Secondhand Stiff

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Yeah, right. I know my husband. Even if Ina is totally cleared as a suspect, Greg will want to get to the bottom of who killed Tom Bruce. He may not have liked Tom, but the killing was too close to home for him to stay out of it.

  I glanced back at the locker to find the police moving everyone out of the area. The group of bystanders, including Ina, Renee, and Mom, was being herded once again, but this time toward the front of the storage compound.

  “Honey, I have to go. They’re clearing the area.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Stick close to Ina. The moms will probably be okay, but who knows what might come out of Ina’s mouth under the circumstances.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.” I love it when my hubby exerts his take-charge personality—well, I love it when it doesn’t collide with my own pig-headed streak.

  four

  When I caught up to the crowd, they were being held in an area just inside the front gate of Elite Storage. The police were methodically working through everyone, taking names, contact information, and short statements. It looked like we might be here a good long time. Kim Pawlak sensed the same thing and disappeared into the office, returning with two folding chairs for Renee and Mom, for which I thanked her.

  Ina was off to the side. With her was the big guy in the wife-beater shirt, the guy Mom had attacked with her purse. He was holding Ina while she sobbed. Seeing that Mom and Renee appeared cool and collected, at least for the moment, I scooted over to Ina, curious about her comforter. He had ruthlessly outbid her for a locker earlier and now was providing a shoulder to cry on.

  “Ina, how are you doing?” I asked as I approached.

  She pulled away from the man and sniffled. “How do you think I’m doing?” she snapped. “My husband is dead.”

  The man looked me over, his face not nearly as hard as his overall appearance. I placed him in his early forties. When he held out a hand to me in introduction, I took it. “Name’s Clarence Goodwin, but everyone calls me Buck. I’m a colleague of Tom and Ina’s—and their friend.”

  “Odelia Grey. I’m married to one of Ina’s cousins.”

  Buck gave me a small smile of recognition. “That would be the guy in the wheelchair, right? Ina’s told me a lot about him.”

  I nodded. It didn’t surprise me that Ina had mentioned Greg. In spite of her gruff exterior, I knew she adored him. That was also the reason Greg was jumping in to help her. He considered Ina a wayward younger sister more than a second cousin.

  I turned to face Ina. “In fact, that was Greg on the phone. He’s on his way here.” She looked up with surprise, so I explained. “One of us will take Renee and my mother home, and one of us will stay with you. Greg’s also finding an attorney to help you through the questioning. Or do you have your own lawyer?”

  “I don’t need a damn lawyer,” Ina hissed through her tears. “I didn’t kill Tom!”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” I told her. “But it’s best to have an attorney present during questioning like this. As the spouse, you’ll be scrutinized.”

  “She’s right, Ina,” Buck added. “Cops can twist your words all around if you don’t have a good mouthpiece.”

  Ina took a deep breath, and the three of us looked back in the direction of the locker, which, thankfully, we could not see from where we stood.

  “Have they questioned you?” I asked.

  Ina didn’t respond, but Buck did. “I don’t think they’ve done anything except take her statement of what happened just now, like they’re doing to all of us.”

  “They might take her to the station for her questioning.” I looked at Ina again. Her heavy eye makeup was dripping like melting licorice. “Do you have an attorney you can call?” I asked again. Ina shook her head.

  “Greg and I know several attorneys. We’ll find someone to help you.”

  “But I can’t afford an attorney,” she whined.

  “Don’t worry about that right now,” I said. “We’ll deal with that later.”

  I looked around at the people being questioned and those waiting to be questioned. “What happened to Linda McIntyre?” Even though I knew she’d disappeared shortly after Tom was discovered, there was always the possibility she hadn’t gone far.

  Buck surveyed the parking lot just beyond the front gate. “Her SUV’s gone,” he reported. “It was parked right next to my truck. She drives a red Chevy Tahoe.” He pointed toward a silver Ford pickup. The space next to it was empty.

  I checked out the parking lot, looking for a red SUV. Nothing. “The police are going to want to talk to her for sure.”

  “Why?” whined Ina. “Can’t I even be a widow without her coming between me and Tom?”

  It was Buck who answered her. “For starters, the police will want to talk to Linda because she was here when Tom was found. And considering her personal relationship with him, she could be a suspect.”

  The last part of his comment struck a chord with Ina. “You think maybe she killed him?” Her ink-rimmed eyes went wide—but not with surprise, more with satisfaction. “If she did kill Tom, it serves him right.”

  “Shh,” I cautioned, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. “You might not want to seem so pleased about the prospect.”

  Buck also surveyed the area to see if anyone had their ears tuned to us, but it appeared we were pretty much alone. “Odelia’s right. The police will push you to the wall on this; there’s no need to give them fuel for the fire. Keep comments like that to yourself and your lawyer.”

  “Tell me,” I said to Ina, “can you think of anyone who might have had reason to kill Tom?”

  Instead of answering, Ina wiped the back of her hand across her face, dragging it over her runny nose and streaks of black makeup. Before I could dig a tissue from my purse, Buck handed her a clean blue cotton handkerchief produced from a pocket of his cargo shorts. While Ina mopped herself up, I checked Buck out, taking in the bulky tat-covered arms, the stubble on his face, and his thinning blond hair.

  He noticed my unabashed curiosity and gave me a small grin. “In spite of what that old bag with the big purse said about my upbringing, my mother taught me never to leave the house without a clean hankie.”

  “That old bag is my mother,” I informed him.

  “Oh. Sorry.” He looked away with embarrassment.

  Maybe Buck Goodwin didn’t get mad at my mother’s attack because of her age. Maybe it was just years of good upbringing that had kept him from ripping her offending purse from her arm and stomping on it, as I might have done.

  I turned my attention back to the conversation. “We’ll have to make sure the police know that Linda was here and took off.”

  I looked around. “I think several others took off, too.”

  “Yeah,” Buck agreed. “Ted Hudsinger and Pedro Serrano are both gone. No surprise there; both have had run-ins with the law over the years.”

  “Any problems between them and Tom?” I asked.

  Ina remained mute, but Buck shook his head and answered, “Not that I know of. They both have their issues but pretty much get along with the other buyers. Most of the regulars know each other, even if they’re not drinking buddies.”

  “I saw the two guys in the baseball hats try to make a break for it, but the police stopped them. What do you know about them?”

  Buck surveyed the crowd until his eyes settled on the two men I’d mentioned. “The tall one is Roberto Vasquez. He seems to be a cool enough guy—a family man. Sometimes his wife comes to the auctions with him. The guy with him today is his nephew Guillermo. He’s been coming around more lately.”

  Ina came out of her silent haze to also check out those who were left in the crowd. “Mazie Moore is also gone.” Ina wiped her nose again, this time using Buck’s handkerchief. “I’ll bet she left with Linda. Those two are thick as thieves.”

  I though
t about Linda and the woman with the visor. “I didn’t notice Linda with anyone until after, when she was having words with a short black woman.”

  Ina nodded. “That would be Mazie. They always come separately, but often partner up in the bidding. They like to think the rest of us don’t know they work together, but they do.”

  “Mazie owns two secondhand shops. One in Inglewood and another in Pico Rivera,” Buck explained.

  “Where is Linda’s shop?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t have one,” snorted Ina. “She mostly buys for people who can’t make the auctions. She thinks she’s so high and mighty, strutting around with that Bluetooth in her ear like she’s some high-paid rep at a fancy art auction house.”

  From the way Buck chuckled, I got the feeling he agreed with Ina about Linda. “The scuttlebutt is,” he added, “Mazie and Linda are looking to partner up and expand Mazie’s stores into a good-size chain.”

  “And Mazie is the short African American woman with the visor?” I asked to confirm.

  Ina sneered. “Yeah, Mazie’s the gnarled little gnome. The tall black woman was Dionne Hudsinger, Ted’s wife. She’s pretty nice most of the time. Mazie’s the dumpy mailbox without legs.”

  Being short and stout myself, I bristled inside at the comment, but kept my personal feelings under wraps. “I remember her. She was bidding on the first locker right along with everyone else, even in competition with Linda. Why would she do that if she’s supposed to be in partnership with Linda?”

  Ina looked away while Buck answered, “Linda was probably bidding today for one of her clients. As I said, their partnership is rumor, not necessarily fact.”

  Ina nudged Buck with an elbow. “Guess Mazie didn’t leave. There she is now.”

  Our eyes turned to watch Mazie Moore coming out of the Elite Storage office. She’d removed her visor and was slowly making her way down the few short steps to the pavement.

  Okay, I’m short and fat, but even without standing next to her I could tell Mazie Moore’s mahogany head was several inches below mine, putting her well under five feet. Ina’s mailbox comment wasn’t too far off the mark. Mazie wasn’t just short; she was as wide as she was tall, almost literally, reminding me of a brown mini-fridge.

  As soon as Mazie descended the stairs, I saw Kim Pawlak signal to Renee, who left her seat and climbed the stairs. I also noted that Kim had brought out a few other folding chairs. Mazie moved one of them off to the side by itself and plunked down in it to await her turn for questioning. After making sure Buck could stay with Ina, I scooted over to where my mother sat on the folding chair.

  “Where did Renee go?”

  “Bathroom breaks,” Mom answered. “Seems they only have one on the premises, and it’s unisex. I’m next in line.”

  I sat down on Renee’s chair and leaned toward my mother. “Have the police spoken to you yet?”

  “They took my name and Renee’s and our information. I gave them your home phone. I hope you don’t mind? Couldn’t see what good it would be giving them my number in New Hampshire when I’m out here.”

  “Of course that’s fine, but they will also want your home number in case they have questions after you leave. Murder investigations can take a long time.”

  “I also gave them my cell phone number.”

  Feeling more settled, I noticed Mom watching the crowd like a hawk. I discreetly pointed to Mazie. “Have you had a chance to chat with that woman yet?”

  Mom tore her eyes away from the crowd and looked at me funny. “Why would I?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Maybe out of curiosity. You know, chitchat to pass the time.”

  After consideration, Mom shook an index finger in my direction. “You don’t fool me, missy. Those cogs in that head of yours are already working this as if it’s a case to be solved.”

  “It is a case to be solved, and it involves someone we know. What would have happened if I hadn’t stuck my nose into things back in Massachusetts?”

  Mom turned away from me. “I would have been fine,” she sniffed. “They knew I didn’t kill that man.” Mom went back to watching the crowd, and we slipped into a loud silence until she said, “That woman—the one you pointed out. Ina doesn’t like her much.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “Didn’t need to,” Mom explained. “I could tell by the way they eyed each other during the auctions. It’s not the same hatred she has for that other woman—you know, the cheap blond.” I nodded to let her know I knew who she meant. “But Ina doesn’t like her, and that woman doesn’t like Ina. Maybe it’s just a competitive thing, but I don’t think so. Ina’s in competition with a lot of these people, but I didn’t get the same feeling between her and the others.”

  “What about that man over there?” I tried to indicate Buck Goodwin without being obvious. He was still standing guard over Ina.

  Mom squinted at Buck almost a full minute before answering. I watched her profile as she concentrated. Although I had my dad’s eyes and short, stocky build, I clearly had my mother’s other features. If I lost weight and my face became less roly-poly, it would almost be like looking in the mirror, minus the silver hair. Greg had pointed this out when Mom first arrived, but I had failed to see it until now, or maybe I didn’t want to admit it. He had also claimed Mom and I were a lot alike in other ways—he almost ended up sleeping on the sofa for that remark.

  “Could be he’s making an advance on her,” Mom said, making her diagnosis. “A young widow might be easy pickings for a guy like him. If he provides a shoulder to cry on now, it might pay off later.”

  I looked at my mother with unabashed surprise.

  “What?” she snorted. “When you’re retired, you read and watch a lot of TV. Wouldn’t be the first time a man showed a grieving woman support to get into her panties. It’s a common theme.” She looked back over at Ina and Buck. “Or maybe he’s just being a comforting friend. Hard to tell.” Mom turned to me. “He was taking pictures of the body. I made him stop.”

  “I saw you. Good job.”

  My mother gave me a small smile. My mother didn’t smile often. Usually her lips were set in a concrete slash of disappointment and disapproval, but here she was, giving me a small, tight-lipped ooze of happiness. I was suddenly ashamed of my reluctance in having her extend her stay.

  “So.” The word came out of Mom’s mouth alone and without any indication if it was a question or a declaration. The hint of smile was gone as she eyed me with expectation.

  “So, what?”

  Mom peered at me over the top of her glasses and remained silent. I squirmed in my seat. It didn’t matter that until recently we hadn’t seen each other for over three decades or that she was getting up in years; she was still my mother, and, as such, she had some sort of magical bullshit detector. It made me wonder if she had the same power over Clark. I was relieved when Renee joined us. It not only diluted some of Mom’s voodoo spell, but I wouldn’t have to give the update twice.

  I stood up and relinquished the chair to Renee. “Greg is finding Ina an attorney to help her with the police questioning,” I explained to the moms. “He’s also on his way here.”

  Renee put a hand over her heart. “Thank God.” As soon as she said the words, she looked at me with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Odelia. I know you’re quite capable, but I always feel better when Greg or his father are around in times like these.”

  I caught my mother rolling her eyes and gave her my own brand of daughterly disapproval. The eye rolling froze.

  I knew Renee Stevens had a core of steel. The woman had nearly single-handedly pulled Greg through the aftermath of his accident and the resulting paralysis. It was she who showed him his life wasn’t over and that it could be full of love and success even if he was sitting in a wheelchair. And when Greg flirted with destructive drugs in his late teens, it had been
Renee who’d reached into the depths of his black, hopeless depression and yanked him back into the light with tough love. Without Renee Stevens, Greg would not be the solid, positive, and accomplished man I love more than life itself. But Renee was of a generation of women that depended on their men for strength, even if they had more than enough on their own. My mother, on the other hand, had a history of hooking up with nice but weak men. She’d been an alcoholic, headstrong manipulator. She’d stopped drinking years ago, but I wasn’t so sure her personality had mellowed with age.

  “They’re letting some people leave.” My mother pointed in the direction of the gate closest to us.

  Sure enough, the cop posted by the smaller gate was opening it to let a few of the auction-goers leave. The main gate—the one large enough to admit trucks—remained closed. Among those leaving were the two Latinos who had won the first locker. The one called Roberto was talking with Kim Pawlak, trying to find out when they could get back in to clean out the locker they’d won. I heard him arguing that they were not going to pay any rental fee on the locker because of the mess with Tom. Kim assured him they would let him know when the police cleared the area and that he’d be given ample time, free of charge, to clear out the items. Mollified, he and his nephew started to pass through the gate, but at the last minute a man in a suit called to the cop guarding the gate to stop them. Roberto froze, but his nephew dashed through the gate, only to be stopped on the other side by a cop with his gun drawn.

  “Is that the killer?” asked my mother.

  “I don’t know, Mom.”

  While we watched, the man in the suit strolled over to Guillermo and said something to him we couldn’t hear. Roberto stepped in to translate. After a short exchange, police cuffed Guillermo and stuffed him into the back of a police car while Roberto argued with the guy in the suit that he was making a big mistake.

  I scooted back over to where Ina and Buck stood watching the drama. “Is he a suspect?”