“Did you talk about Annette’s travel plans to anyone after you left the salon?”
“Lord, just about everyone was talking about Annette’s breakup and wondering if she’d take the skunk back. Annette has great business sense but terrible taste in men. I remember telling Joey that I was relieved she was leaving town. If she hadn’t, I might have suggested to Joey that he ask her out.”
Bingo.
“Joey knew Annette was going away. Did he also know where Doc Truman and his wife were spending the Thanksgiving holiday when their house was broken into?”
“Well, of course he knew. I asked him to help me water their plants and let their dog, Rusty, out when…” Eleanor’s eyes went wide. “You think my Joey is the Thanksgiving Day thief? Sheriff Jackson and Deputy Holmes never questioned him, let alone said he was a suspect.”
That’s because the sheriff and Sean didn’t know what I knew. One night when I was fourteen, I couldn’t sleep and went down to the rink, hoping to raid the snack bar. Instead of indigestion, I found seventeen-year-old Joey Schaffer with one hand in the cash register and a bag of Fritos in the other. Faced with an intruder, I did the only thing I could think to do. I grabbed a nearby broom, brandished it like a sword, and screamed, hoping my mother would hear the sound from our apartment.
She did.
Twenty minutes later, Eleanor and her husband were standing next to their youngest son, begging my mother not to call the cops. They didn’t want one mistake to ruin his chances of college and a good future. The next day, my mother installed a new lock on the front door, and Joey was shipped off to live with his grandmother for senior year.
“They might if I told them about the theft at the rink.”
Eleanor glanced at the door to Doc’s office and whispered, “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”
In movies, private detectives were smart. They were ruthless. They demanded the truth. I wasn’t up to demanding. Especially not when faced with tears and a quivering lower lip.
Sighing, I said, “I don’t want to cast suspicion on anyone unless I know they’re behind the thefts, especially not Joey. I like him.” At least I did when we were in high school. Our paths hadn’t crossed much since I’d returned to Indian Falls. “Does he have an alibi for the thefts? If so, he’s off the hook. If not…” I frowned.
Eleanor sucked in air. We stared at each other, waiting to see who would blink first.
Eleanor did. She looked down at her hands as a tear streaked down her face.
“He doesn’t have alibis. Does he?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “When Bernie died twelve years ago, I started spending Thanksgiving at one of my daughters’ houses. Joey never wants to go. He prefers to pay a visit to his dad’s grave and spend the rest of the holiday alone. Everyone around here just assumes he goes with me. I’ve never said different. At first because it was no one’s business but Joey’s, and then because I was worried.”
“Then he might have something to do with the robberies?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Eleanor pushed out of the chair and grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter. “Joey’s always been my quiet child. With five older sisters, he never had a chance to get a word into the conversation. He broke into your mother’s rink because he wanted attention.”
“He got it.”
Eleanor sighed. “Yes, he did, and he never lost it. He lives rent-free. He has a good job. Joey would have no reason to break into anyone’s home and steal.” She turned and looked me dead in the eye. “I promise you, Rebecca, my boy isn’t the person behind these crimes.”
Conviction filled her voice. This wasn’t the same tone she used when snowing kids into believing that a shot wasn’t going to hurt. I should know. Growing up, I fell for that line every time.
No, this wasn’t Eleanor’s vaccine voice. This was something different. Which made me wonder. “Did you search his room?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks flared with color, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. “I also checked the trunk of his car, looked through the Internet search history on his computer, and peeked at his bank statements for large deposits. The victims of the robberies are my friends. If I’d found anything that hinted Joey took from them, I would have turned him in.”
Crap. I believed her.
Trying not to be disappointed with the loss of my best and only suspect, I stood and asked, “Do you know if Joey is working at home today? Sean hasn’t put Joey on the suspect list yet, but he might. If Joey can come up with an alibi for even one of the crimes, it’ll help keep him in the clear.”
Oof. I found myself squashed against Eleanor’s ample chest. When she let go and I could breathe again, she said that Joey had been working in the home office when she left that morning. He planned on being there all day.
When I drove up to the Schaffers’ sprawling brick ranch home, I spotted Joey through the large picture window exactly where Eleanor had said he’d be—sitting smack in front of a computer screen. The empty jumbo-sized coffee cup and the overflowing wastepaper basket filled with candy wrappers, empty chip bags, and scribbled-on Post-it notes told me he’d been there a while.
Joey was painfully shy when he invited me inside and asked if I was here for computer help. When I explained why I stopped by, his shoulders straightened. Under his shaggy blond hair, his brown eyes lit with excitement. Being a criminal suspect was clearly the most thrilling thing to happen to Joey in a long time. Too bad he had an alibi for the first five Thanksgiving Day break-ins. Otherwise, he might have marched himself down to the sheriff’s office and turned himself in just to break up the monotony of his day.
“For those Thanksgivings I drove to Dixon and helped cook dinner at a homeless shelter.”
Wow. Joey had just gone from shy and geeky to heroic and selfless in two seconds flat. “Why does your mom think you spent those Thanksgivings alone?”
He shifted his feet and shrugged. “Mom loves family holidays. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to come with me. Before my dad died, he said we should volunteer at a shelter. Every year he said he was going to do it, but he never did. After he died, I decided to do it as a way of honoring him. It made me feel good about myself, so I kept going back.”
Double wow. “Why did you stop?”
The theme from Pachelbel’s Canon in D blared from my phone. Danielle had sent me a text.
“Sorry,” I said to Joey as I pulled out my phone and looked at Danielle’s text message.
WEDDING FAVOR FRAMES ARRIVED BROKEN. HELP!
I gave Joey an apologetic smile and typed back, I’LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT. DON’T WORRY.
While the white frames with silver and gold etching were tasteful, they weren’t exactly a big loss. Face it, no one really needed a three-inch by two-inch picture frame. Of course, now it was up to me to come up with something more interesting. Somehow I had a hard time believing real private investigators had to deal with this kind of crisis.
Flipping open my notebook, I jotted down a reminder to find an appropriate wedding giveaway before Danielle gnawed off her recently polished nails. Then I looked back at Joey, trying to remember what we had been talking about.
“Sorry,” I said. “You were telling me why you stopped volunteering on Thanksgiving.”
Joey frowned. “The shelter closed down due to lack of funds. Since then I’ve been spending Thanksgiving here. I guess that means I don’t have an alibi for the last five years. Will that be a problem?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re in the clear.” And on his way to becoming a saint. “But why haven’t you celebrated Thanksgiving with your family since?”
“I didn’t know how to say I’d changed my mind without telling my mom about the shelter. I don’t want her to think I chose my dad over her. You know?”
The logic was faulty, but the sentiment behind it was sweet. Unfortunately, that meant the poor guy was once again going to be alone on Turkey Day. The way his mouth turned down at t
he corners told me how he felt about that.
Before I could consider the implications, I found myself asking, “Would you like to come to Thanksgiving dinner at my place this year?”
“Really?” Joey gave me a toothpaste-ad-worthy smile. “Like a date?”
Yikes. “No.”
His smile dimmed. “You probably have a boyfriend, right?”
“Boyfriend” seemed too casual a word after last night, but for lack of a better one … “Lionel Franklin and I have been seeing each other. His parents will be at dinner, too, along with my family and friends. It’d be great if you could join us.”
By the time I climbed back in my car, I was up one dinner guest and down a suspect. Making a mental note to check how many place settings were in my cabinets, I flipped through my notebook and tried to decide what investigative path to take next. I had almost two hours until I had to meet Erica and Danielle for a dress fitting. Not enough time to go shopping for Danielle’s wedding favor replacements, more than enough to question another suspect—if I had one. None of the other names on Annette’s list made my Spidey-sense tingle.
Feeling bummed by my lack of detecting skills, I opted to drive the two blocks to my grandfather’s house, hoping a snack would give my mental prowess a boost. At least it would stop my stomach from growling.
My grandfather’s Lincoln Town Car sat in the driveway. Technically, the car was still registered in my grandmother’s name. After she died, Pop pulled a tarp over the Town Car. Aside from seasonal checkups by the local mechanic, it remained unused for over a decade. It wasn’t until after my mother died that Pop sold his vehicle and began using this one. The car guzzled gas, cornered like the Titanic, and, when Pop was decked out in concert attire, made him look like a geriatric broker of the world’s oldest profession.
Pop normally parked the car in the garage. The fact that it was currently exposed to the damp cold made me believe that Elvis was in the building.
Sure enough, the minute I opened my car door I could hear the sounds of bass drum, electric guitar, and slightly off-key but enthusiastic singing. Pop and his band were in rehearsal.
Not wanting to ruin their musical mojo, I decided to wait until a break before saying hello and let myself in through the side door. The smell of coffee made my body quiver with happiness. I poured myself a cup from the pot sitting on the warmer, added two spoonfuls of sugar, and sighed as I took my first sip. Pop’s culinary talents weren’t much to speak of, but his coffee was legendary.
Fortified with caffeine, I rifled through the fridge for something edible. Not an easy task. Aside from a carton of eggs, milk, and a few stray veggies, the fridge was empty. When I first moved back to Indian Falls, the refrigerator was always stocked. Of course, that was before my father moved in and started mooching Pop’s groceries. To make sure he didn’t starve, Pop hid a small fridge in the garage and packed it with the good stuff he didn’t want my father to know about. Unfortunately, unless I wanted to risk hearing loss or make a run to the store, I’d have to make do with what was here.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting down at the red Formica table with my investigator notebook, a pepper and onion omelet, and my third cup of coffee.
“Does something ever smell good in here.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and my father stepped into view. With his perfectly pressed charcoal pants, off-white cable-knit sweater, and slightly graying auburn hair, my father looked both handsome and reliable. Proof that looks can be deceiving.
His deep blue eyes sparkled with happiness. “Hi, honey. What a wonderful surprise. Your grandfather didn’t mention you were dropping by today, otherwise I would have cleared my afternoon. We haven’t spent much time together lately.”
Part of me wanted to point out that spending time together had never been a priority for Stan. In fact, since he’d blown back into town seven weeks ago, we’d spent more time together by accident than we had for the dozen years prior. The other part … well, Ginny’s death and talking to Joey Schaffer about losing his father had me swallowing down my retort with a mouthful of eggs. Though I might not be thrilled with Stan’s parenting, or lack thereof, he was the only parent I had left. The logical part of my brain told me I’d probably wake up tomorrow and find him packed and gone, but my heart desperately wanted him to care enough to stay.
Was it any wonder I had commitment issues?
Stan poured himself a cup of coffee to the muted sounds of “Battle Hymn of the Republic” and slid into the seat across from me. “Everyone’s talking about your new business.”
“This is just a one-shot deal,” I said, ignoring the way my father was eyeing my lunch. “Mrs. Johnson asked me to do her a favor, and I didn’t know how to say no.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if lots of other folks start asking for similar favors. You’ve made a name for yourself in this town. Now’s the time to capitalize on it.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair as I put the last bite of omelet into my mouth. “Catching criminals is an exciting sideline. If I hadn’t already started my own company, I’d be asking for a cut of the action.”
I waited for a particularly loud drum solo to end before saying, “Lionel mentioned you wanted to use his farm for photographs.”
Stan nodded. “The barn has good lighting. Shots of models sitting on hay bales or grooming some of the horses will look good on composite cards. I want all my models to be strong examples of healthy living to snag those AARP commercials.”
He sounded confident and knowledgeable. It was easy to see how he convinced the senior population of Indian Falls that they were going to be the next big thing. Stan was an excellent salesperson, but I knew him far too well to buy what he was selling. “You know companies like AARP use established talent agencies in New York and Los Angeles. They aren’t going to book models from an agency no one’s heard of.”
“That’s why I’m starting small.” He got up and poured the last of the coffee into his mug. “I’m tapping the local markets first to build a résumé for me and my talent. I’ve already booked Ethel Jacabowski for a photo shoot at one of those fancy retirement villages in Rock Island.”
“Really?” Maybe this modeling agency endeavor wasn’t a scam. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Stan flashed his perfectly straight smile. “It took a lot of fast talking to get them to do the shoot before Ethel leaves town. I didn’t realize when I signed her that she’s one of the group that goes to Florida every winter. If I’d known that, I would have asked for a higher commission than twenty-five percent.”
Wait. “I thought most agents took fifteen percent.”
“Most agents aren’t recruiting raw talent, training them from the ground up, and putting together portfolios. The coaching fees I charge cover only part of my cost.”
So much for my father turning over a new leaf.
We both jumped as a high-pitched whine streaked through the air. There was a loud crash, followed by the sound of my grandfather swearing. Something told me band practice was over.
Shooting a look at the garage door, my father scooted back his chair, grabbed a set of keys off the table, and gave me a bright smile. “I hate to run, but I’ve got to get to a meeting with an account looking to score some fresh faces. Tell your grandfather I’ll be back with the car in an hour or two. Oh, and if you don’t mind, add one more plate to the table at Thanksgiving. Your old man is bringing a date.”
With a wink, Stan disappeared out the door, leaving me gaping after him. Somehow Stan had just managed to turn our first attempt at a family holiday into his version of The Dating Game. Shaking off my disappointment, I started a fresh pot of coffee and washed the dishes. I had just sat down to review my investigative notes when the slamming of the garage door announced the arrival of my grandfather.
“Damn that man.” Pop stormed into the kitchen, wearing blue suede boots and a fierce scowl. “I told him I needed the car to run errands this afternoon. Well, he’s going to be sorry when he
takes one of his marathon trips to the bathroom and discovers we’re out of toilet paper.”
Um … ick.
“Stan said he’d be back with the car later this afternoon.” I hoped before using the bathroom became imperative. “He had to meet with someone looking for new talent.”
I expected my grandfather to roll his eyes at Stan’s new sideline. Instead he took a seat and sighed. “I guess I can’t fault him for running down new opportunities. It takes time and dedication to build your own business. Just look at me.”
The rhinestone-encrusted gold shirt made that hard to do without wearing shades. Still, though I didn’t always understand my grandfather’s passion for impersonating the King, I appreciated his perseverance and hard work. Two things Stan had spent most of his life avoiding. “This new business is probably just another one of his scams.”
“That’s what I thought at first, but I’ve changed my mind.” The coffeepot burbled. Pop stood and rummaged through the cabinets for a mug. “I called the company that booked Ethel for her modeling job, pretending to be a hotshot Chicago talent agent. The guy on the phone asked me to send them my information for future consideration. He then said they’d just booked some local talent for their next shoot. I even snuck into Stan’s room and took a look at the contract. It’s legit.”
“I thought Stan put a lock on his bedroom door.” He claimed he wanted to ensure client confidentially. More likely Stan did it because sending the bill for the locksmith to my grandfather would drive Pop wild.
Pop grinned. “Your father doesn’t lock his windows.”
“You climbed through Dad’s window?” My heart swooped into my stomach as I pictured Pop climbing through the second-story window.
“Are you crazy?” Pop sputtered. “Headliners never do their own stunts. I slipped Carlos twenty bucks to shimmy up the ladder and unlock your dad’s door from the inside. Carlos learned more than how to play a rocking bass line during his stint in juvie.”
Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) Page 7