I shuddered and stared at my uncles. “I mean, he would have had to look the guy in the eyes.”
Lucky shook his head. Uncle Mick’s ginger hair seemed to stand on end. “Kev is a pain in the entire anatomy of anyone who knows him, but he’s harmless. Well, he’s not harmless. He’s a disaster waiting to happen, but he’s not violent. Never was. Never did a thing to hurt anyone deliberately, although . . .”
I gulped. “I don’t think this could have been an accident. How could it be? He would have had to have a knife in his hand. Unless the other guy had the knife and Uncle Kev wrestled it from him and—What if this hit man was after Kev?”
“Don’t even imagine that, Jordan. If he had been, Kev still couldn’t kill him. He’s a runner, not a fighter.”
I slumped in relief. I’d known that, but life was so wacky lately that I needed to hear it from someone I trusted. And the only people I really trusted were the men right in front of me. Walter too, of course. The jury was out on the new dog, but it had trustworthy eyes.
I took a deep breath and said, “As long as no one else starts thinking it.”
Lucky’s inch-thick eyebrows shot up as did Mick’s color.
“Why would anything think that?” he huffed.
“Well, some of the neighbors might have spotted him around there. He spent a lot of time lurking. He must have left traces. A fingerprint. DNA. For sure his prints would be in the system and, for all I know, his DNA is too.”
They exchanged glances and Walter snuffled in sympathy.
I continued, “The Burton police don’t seem to be efficient in the least, but they will have a forensics team and it could end badly for Kev, unless they’re total idiots. Of course, that’s possible, based on my limited experience.”
“They couldn’t make it stick.”
“People get wrongly charged and convicted all the time. You should know that.” Of course, Uncle Mick and Uncle Lucky are from the other side of the story where the guilty don’t get caught, or if caught, they don’t get charged, or if charged, they don’t get convicted.
I had to make my point. “And if Kev’s charged or even if the cops are looking at him and they put out an all points bulletin or some public message, then the wrong people will find out he’s in the area.”
That hit home. Mick and Lucky might find Kev a giant boil on the family butt, but he was one of us and he needed to be protected, preferably in someone else’s dwelling.
“So here’s the thing. The guy who was killed was Pierre Gagnon.”
They shrugged together. I swear Walter lifted his shoulders too.
I added, “A suspected hit man.”
Uncle Mick said, “What?”
“You heard right. Hit man.”
“Really? A hit man in Harrison Falls?”
“Burton.”
“Burton? That’s even more ridiculous.”
As there was nothing funny or ridiculous about this, I said, “Let’s say it’s unlikely. So, who killed the hit man? We all agree it couldn’t have been Kev. Not even in self-defense.”
“Kev wouldn’t stand a chance against a hit man.”
“Agreed.”
“So who killed this Pierre whatever his name is?”
“I think it was someone from the Adams family. They flew the coop and my new cop friend—”
“Your what?”
“Candy. Officer Candy Mortakis. She’s been a good source of infor—”
“Cop?”
“I’m sorry, but she already let me into the Adams house, where I found out some interesting stuff. And she’s the one who told me about Pierre Gagnon.”
“Why’s she doing this?” Uncle Mick crossed his arms and glowered, while Uncle Lucky shook his head the way he might if I’d suggested jumping off a high building without a net. “Doesn’t make sense to me.”
“I hear you, but you have to know her to understand. She’s lonely. She’s not from around here and she’s not fitting in with the force. She’s not the greatest cop either, and I doubt if she’ll last long. Anyway, she tells me stuff because she wants to be my friend.”
“We are not friends with cops.” Uncle Mick was still cross-armed. Uncle Lucky still had that look on his face, and even Walter was disapproving.
“I’m not really her friend. I’m just—”
“It’s dangerous and you should know that, Jordan.”
I tuned out the gentle admonitions and tried not to feel rotten about Candy. She genuinely wanted to be my friend, and I was diminishing her and using her information to protect those on the other side of the law. That’s not like me. I’m a straight shooter when it comes to friends. Loyal and steadfast and all that good stuff. I wasn’t comfortable leading her on, not that she gave me much choice. The uncles were right. Cops and Kellys are not an easy mix. But this time I was going to have to make it work. “Well, she’s my pipeline into that investigation and I’m going to make the most of it. We’ll just have to man up. You do realize that if Kev was there, he might have witnessed the hit man being killed. And he could be in danger from whomever killed Pierre Gagnon as well as from the police. We need an inside source.”
Uncle Mick just couldn’t drop the cop angle. “Bad enough that other guy, Tyler Dekker.”
That reminded me. Before I took off on my day’s hunting and gathering with Candy, I had to make an effort to find Tyler Dekker. Where was he? Not at home. Not at work. Not in the hospital.
“Sorry, I have to run,” I said. “Just wanted to fill you in. Maybe you can make inquiries about this Pierre Gagnon. He’s a Canadian, but apparently he has connections in the Albany area. Oh, and Buffalo, I think. It would help if we knew who he worked for. Or who he might have been working for this time. It might have something to do with a family currently named Adams, who went missing along with a large amount of money about three years ago. Is there any way you can nose around without . . .”
Oh boy, as the words came out of my mouth, I realized that would be a mistake. It might attract attention to our family. And put my uncles in danger. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Let me see what I can find out without letting on it’s anything more than idle chat,” Uncle Mick said.
Lucky nodded.
“Well, be careful,” I said.
“We’re supposed to say that to you,” Mick harrumphed.
I made tracks.
• • •
I HAD NO choice but to go back to Tyler Dekker’s tiny ranch house. Again. This time I had a potted plant as a sort of cover. Every bachelor needs a jade plant. Hard to kill them. I had considered my lock picks, but I figured that woman across the street would dial 911 in a flash. I banged on the door again. This time I planned to leave a message. I was hammering for the third time, and may have shouted something like “don’t make me break the law,” when the door was whipped open and I tumbled in. The jade plant went flying.
Tyler Dekker stared at me—red-faced—as I picked myself up off the floor and stuck the jade plant back in its decorative pot.
“Most people just answer the door on the first or second hammering,” I said. To my astonishment I felt tears sting my eyes. Not because it was embarrassing to have landed on the floor in front of a police officer—I’m made of sterner stuff than that. I realized it was because Tyler Dekker was obviously alive and seemingly well. Apparently, I cared more than I’d been admitting to myself.
The red flush continued to spread up his face. I hoped he’d never try to work undercover until he got that blushing issue under control.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me help you up.”
“Never mind. I’m already up.”
I repackaged my dignity as I dusted off my knees. Of course, my knees were sore but not in the least bit dusty because there was no dust anywhere in Tyler Dekker’s place. He could pass any white-glove test. It was unnerving.
“What’s going on?” I said.
“Don’t know what you mean,” he said. The tips of his ears were p
ractically glowing.
“Yeah you do. And your ears are betraying you.”
He touched the top of his left ear and frowned.
“And you are just getting into your explanation, so tell a few more lies and you might never recover physically. While we’re at it, I’d like to say that you scared me. You were not home. You weren’t at work. You never answered the door or the phone or any texts. There was a body behind that house on Lincoln Way and for all I knew you were that body.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer you, but you must have figured out that I wasn’t dead. I know they told you I called in sick. You can hardly call in sick when you’re dead.”
“But someone could have called in for you, sounding sick. Maybe the same person that might have killed you. Did you think of that?”
“But it didn’t happen. Exhibit A: Me standing here.” He smiled, the chip in the incisor adorable as usual.
“Well, how could I know that?” I was getting grumpier by the second, despite his being alive.
“I appreciate your concern.”
Concern? Was that a synonym for worry and lack of sleep?
“Maybe you killed him.”
“What?” That sandbagged him. “Of course I didn’t kill him. How could you even suggest something like that?”
“Well, you were obviously hiding afterward.”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“Were.”
“I had my reasons, but not because I killed anyone.”
“It might have been in self-defense. Then you panicked and went to ground.”
He stared at me. “I’m a police officer. If I killed someone in self-defense, I’d file a report and go through all the internal procedures. I wouldn’t go to ground. And I don’t panic. We’re trained, you know.”
“Well, what did happen?”
“I can’t tell you. I can’t believe you think I killed him. He was stabbed. Do you really think I’d stab a person? Do you actually imagine that I carry a knife?”
“Maybe he lunged at you and—”
“No stabbing. No lunging. Not me.”
That was a relief, to tell the truth. No other comment came to mind for once. I bent over and rubbed my sore knees.
Finally, he said, “Do you want to come all the way in? Have a seat.”
“Yes.” I straightened up.
“As long as you don’t grill me on what I was doing.”
“I don’t grill you. When do I ever grill you?”
He shook his head. “Would you like something to eat?”
“Nope. So far I’ve had ham and eggs and zucchini, with gummy bears and Oreos for dessert, and it’s not even ten o’clock.”
He gestured toward the small, neat love seat. I sat. He took the recliner at a right angle to it. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it. I hope it won’t make a difference between us.”
Between us? That phrase insinuated that there was an “us.” Was there? It was news to me if there was, but I wouldn’t have been unhappy with “us,” except for the biggest problem. And I couldn’t say anything about that. Naturally, as was so often the case, the biggest problem was one Kevin Francis Kelly. Was Tyler Dekker investigating Uncle Kev? That was the only reason I could imagine for him to be sneaking around after us. Kev was mixed up in some bad situation and Dekker was on the case. If it had been the Adams family, surely Smiley could have mentioned it, without naming names or giving too much detail. If he’d been on the trail of that hit man, he could have just told me so. No. He was after my uncle and that was going to be a deal breaker. Just when I was starting to understand how I felt about him. Very tricky. Let’s face it: you can’t throw your uncle under a bus merely because some tomato-cheeked cop makes your heart thunder. No part of that would be acceptable under any circumstances in the Kelly clan. Ever.
“I can’t stay,” I said. “I just wanted to know that you were all right.”
“Why can’t you stay?”
“I have some places to be. Book places. You know. Work.”
“Oh. Maybe I should join you.” There was that grin again.
“What? No. You can’t.”
“Why not? Is the formidable Miss Van Alst along for the ride?”
“Vera? You know she never leaves the house. No, I have a friend who’s coming.”
“Right. And who’s he? Lance?”
“No, not Lance. It’s a girlfriend. She needs a bit of company and I need help lugging things. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Still sick,” he said. “I was just kidding about joining you. No need to get quite so defensive.”
“Speaking of defensive, are you going to be defensive about your dog?”
His eyes widened. “You have him?”
“Of course I have him. Well, he’s in a safe place.”
He ran his hand through his blond hair. “I’ve been to the SPCA and I’ve been in touch with the rescue sites. I put it out on Facebook and Twitter. I put signs up on every telephone pole in that neighborhood.”
I frowned. I hadn’t had time to get on Facebook or Twitter since all the stuff with Randolph and the books and the dog had been found. I certainly hadn’t checked the telephone poles. Too busy trying not to get arrested.
“Oh. What were you doing with that dog anyway? I figured you just borrowed it as a cover for whatever you were snooping for on Lincoln Way.”
He flushed. “He did come in handy, but that’s not why I have him. I wouldn’t take a dog just as a cover story.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
He scowled at me, not something that came easy to him. “No. I would not. What do you take me for?”
“Then where did he come from?”
“That’s a story for another time and he’s mine now. His name is Cobain. Anyway, what are you talking about? You were there with a fake dog.”
I didn’t think I’d ever seen Smiley get upset before.
“Walter is not a fake dog. He’s Karen’s and he needed some exercise. We’re . . . I’m helping, as she hasn’t fully recovered.”
“Right. Exercise. In the pouring rain in the next town, miles from where you live.”
“I had a reason to be there. Karen had a client and she accidentally sold him some books that had been stolen from Vera. We were trying to make a trade to get them back. The family was being difficult and I wanted to try to get to see the client without them. That’s all. At least I can say why I was there.”
“Good for you,” he said.
“Well then,” I said. “Now that I know you’re alive, I’ll be on my way.”
• • •
CANDY WAS OUTSIDE her Tahoe when I pulled up in the long driveway near the back door of the Van Alst House. She was pacing in the driveway, while talking into her cell phone and snapping her gum. Her bleached hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she had a Yankees hat on. Although it was a nippy fall day, she wore a pink fleece jacket over a sequined T-shirt, cropped jeans and open-toed sandals with heels. Her toenails were bright, each one a different color. She was sporting hoop earrings too. Big ones.
I was wearing a light-green wool shift (parish jumble sale) and a lovely pair of herringbone tights that I had saved for.
At least it wasn’t raining for once. The sun was starting to peek through the clouds, although the temperature seemed to be plummeting.
Candy clicked off the phone and waved merrily to me. “Ready, girlfriend?”
She offered me the package of gum.
I barely managed not to flinch. It was going to be a long morning.
We were dickering over whether to take the Tahoe or the Saab when the signora came flapping out of the house with a picnic basket, full of sandwiches, cookies, two Thermoses of coffee, carrot and celery sticks and fruit salad.
“For you friend, Jordan! Picnic! Eat! Eat!”
“Sure thing,” I said.
In the end, we took the Tahoe.
I figured I’d live.
• • •
I HOPED TO make five stops. If Candy got called back, I planned to pick up my car and return.
The first stop, Once More with Feeling, was near a good area of Fairlawn. We had lots of time to chat on the trip.
“So, you got a boyfriend?” she said.
I shook my head. Whatever Lance and Smiley were, they weren’t boyfriends.
I said, “You?”
“Broke up.” She chewed hard on the gum.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was a jackass. He left me for an older woman. That’s part of the reason I’m here. Needed a change of scenery afterward. Didn’t want to be running into him with her hanging off his arm. The urge to arrest might come over me.”
I laughed out loud. “My ex was a jackass too. He maxed out my credit cards and cleaned out my bank account before I caught on and ditched him. And you know what? That’s why I’m here too. I needed to make some money to get back to grad school. I hope to get a PhD in English.”
“Oh, a PhD? Well la-dee-da.”
“We have that in common,” I said. “Bad boyfriends. And if you ever run into mine, feel free to arrest him.”
“My mom blamed me for the breakup, said I shoulda took better care myself, been more feminine. To hell with that.”
“I hear you.”
“Defer to him.”
“Be glad you’re out of that.”
“You said it, girl. It’s good to be able to talk about these things.”
“It is.” I meant it too.
“You got other buds around here?”
I shook my head. “I have a best friend, Tiffany. She’s somewhere in Africa. She’s a nurse working on a clean water project. We’ve been close since we were college roommates. Now, I can’t even reach her. I miss having someone to vent to. What about you?”
“Well, I used to have a bestie back home, but she screwed me over.”
“Oh!” Have I mentioned that Candy was a person who could surprise you and often.
“You know how it is.”
I didn’t but I laughed anyway. “Maybe you should have slapped the cuffs on her.”
I was getting comfortable with Candy. We didn’t have much in common, but she was growing on me. She was big and bold and she scared me a bit. It’s not like I was drowning in friends. Candy took my mind off things I couldn’t do anything about: Uncle Kev and the Sayers books and whatever Tyler Dekker was up to.
The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) Page 19