Secondhand Stiff

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “Do you think she’s innocent of Tom’s murder?” I asked.

  Greg shrugged. We were alone in the house. After eating her lunch, Mom had taken Wainwright for a short walk. As with the cats, our dog had finally warmed up to her, especially now that he had another body willing to trot him up and down the sidewalks of Seal Beach, even if Mom did move at a much more leisurely pace than he preferred. As soon as they returned, Greg and Wainwright would head to Ocean Breeze Graphics for the rest of the day. Renee had been distraught after the hearing, and Ron had taken her straight home so she could rest.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart.” Greg polished off the rest of his grilled cheese sandwich and reached for a pear from the fruit bowl in the center of the table. “Even though her gun wasn’t used in Tom’s death, there’s some pretty compelling and damaging evidence that points to her having motive, not to mention her silence. Her lawyer told me she’s shut down and is even refusing to talk or listen to him regarding the murder. She seems resigned to sit in jail for a year on the gun charge, but if she’s charged and convicted of Tom’s murder, that year could turn into life.”

  He took a bite of the fruit. As he chewed, he looked around. “Hey, wasn’t Cruz supposed to come today?”

  “She called and asked if she could come tomorrow instead. One of her grandchildren is home ill today, and she needs to take care of him for her daughter.”

  Our doorbell rang. When I answered it, I found Dev Frye standing on our stoop. “Dev, what a nice surprise!”

  He grunted and entered when I opened the door. “Didn’t Greg tell you he called me?”

  Although caught off-guard, I tried my best to hide it while I escorted Dev to our kitchen table. “Would you like some coffee or some lunch? Or how about a soda?”

  Dev had lost weight since his bypass surgery. He was still a very large man but had trimmed down around his middle. His once- blond hair was now completely gray.

  “A cup of coffee would be great, Odelia.” He took a seat at the table across from Greg.

  “I called Dev when I found out Fehring was on the case,” Greg explained as I went to the counter to fetch Dev’s coffee. “I was hoping he could help us understand what was going on.” He turned to Dev. “Did you find out anything?”

  Dev jumped right into it. “It’s not official, but it looks like Tom Bruce was killed by numerous blows to his skull with a long, thin, heavy object.”

  “You mean like a bat,” Greg asked.

  “More like a golf club or fireplace poker.”

  Dev’s answer took me back a bit. Seems I’m not the only one thinking about pokers as weapons, although my thoughts are fantasies.

  “From the blood spatter and wound,” Dev continued, “forensics determined that he died in the chair in the storage locker where he was found.”

  I set the mug of coffee and a spoon in front of Dev and placed the milk within his reach. “But Ina’s much smaller than Tom. Could she have the strength to kill him like that?”

  Dev splashed milk into his coffee and grunted. “You’d be surprised how strong a woman can be when motivated by years of abuse. I’ve seen men my size killed by women under a hundred pounds. And it looks like he might have been unconscious when the assault occurred, possibly drugged, which might prove premeditation.”

  “So Tom was definitely abusing her?” I took a seat at the table between Dev and Greg.

  Greg took my hand. “We suspected as much but didn’t know for sure.”

  “Looks that way,” answered Dev after taking a sip of coffee. “Although she’s not talking about it. Andrea said there seems to be other bruises on Ina. And there have been past police reports filed by neighbors for domestic disturbances, but no arrests, and they couldn’t find any incidents of emergency room visits.”

  I scrunched my brows in thought. “But if she killed him, why would she go to that auction knowing the body would be there?”

  “It’s not uncommon for killers to return to the scene.” Dev took a long swig of coffee. “And it could have been used as a ruse to divert attention from her as a suspect. Even better that she had you ladies with her.”

  I didn’t like the idea that Ina might have used my mother and her aunt as decoys. She didn’t know Mom from Eve, but she seemed to have more respect for Renee than that.

  I sniffed. “I’m surprised Detective Fehring is giving you so much information.”

  “I know you two didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye last time, but Andrea’s good people. I wish I could have hung on to her as a partner, but Long Beach offered her more opportunity for advancement. Besides,” he said, chuckling softly before continuing, “she also thinks if she funnels you small details here and there through me, you’ll keep your nose out of it. She’ll tell us what she can, but there’s a lot she can’t.” Dev looked directly at me. “I hope you understand that she still has a job to do.”

  Greg’s hand let go of mine and combed through his thick hair—a habit when he was frustrated. “And her job is nailing my cousin’s ass to the wall.”

  Dev put down his coffee mug with a soft thud. “Fehring’s job is to find out who killed Tom Bruce. If your cousin killed him, then yes. If Ina didn’t kill her husband, then she needs to cooperate and start talking so they can find out who did. I’ll tell you this: having that plane ticket and fake passport did not help her case at all.”

  No, it didn’t, but I wasn’t about to let that seal Ina’s fate so easily. “As her lawyer said in court, she was disappearing to get away from Tom. Or she could have been starting her life over after Tom left her for that McIntyre woman.”

  “The fake name would point to getting away from Tom,” Greg agreed. “But if he’d already left her, would he still be a threat?”

  “I’ve seen it before,” Dev answered, “when the husband leaves but still controls his wife through fear. But what’s really puzzling is now that Tom Bruce is dead, what does Ina have to fear? Andrea is pretty sure Ina knows something about her husband’s murder but isn’t talking, either out of fear or because she did it. I hate to say this, folks, but it looks like she was planning a getaway, not just a new life. Seems she had also cleaned out their bank accounts, both personal and the store’s, the morning of the auction.”

  Greg raked a hand through his hair again. “Did they find the money in her bag with the plane ticket?”

  “No. Ina had a few thousand dollars in the bag, but not near as much as the withdrawal.”

  My nose twitched in thought. “I never figured Tom and Ina as having a bundle of cash. I mean, the store appeared to be doing okay, but it didn’t seem like a gold mine.” I turned to Greg. “Am I missing something here, honey?”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.” Another rake through his hair. If this kept up, I’d have a bald husband. “Dev, do you know how much the withdrawal was for?”

  “Andrea said in the neighborhood of three hundred grand.”

  Greg gave off a low whistle. I stared at Dev as if he’d said he found Jimmy Hoffa.

  “Are you sure Ina withdrew the money and not Tom?” asked Greg.

  “The bank said it was her. One of the theories is that she used the money to pay someone to kill her husband.”

  Without another word, Greg and I looked at each other. I knew from the set of my husband’s jaw that as soon as Dev was gone, we were going to talk about this some more. The missing money definitely added a new twist.

  “What about security cameras?” Greg asked. “Don’t all those storage places have them?”

  “Yes, but nothing turned up. Not sure why. There was either a glitch in the system or the assailant knew how to bypass them. Either way, there’s zip on the camera. Fehring and Whitman checked it out already.”

  Dev kicked back the rest of his coffee and got up to leave. “Gotta get back to work. I had an appointment nearby, so I thought I’d tell you in perso
n what I’d learned.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Is Mrs. Littlejohn here? I’d like to meet her.”

  “Mom’s out with Wainwright,” I said.

  Dev laughed. “I thought I saw Wainwright prancing down the street when I drove up. At least I spotted a golden retriever walking with an older lady.”

  “That’s them,” I confirmed, “but they should be home soon.”

  “Another time, maybe. I really have to run. Is Clark still in town?”

  “No,” I told him. “He got called off to a job right after Thanksgiving, but he should be back in a day or so. He’ll be accompanying Mom back to New Hampshire.”

  Dev and Clark got along famously, bonded by their years of police work. I didn’t know if Dev knew Clark now worked for Willie. He did know Clark had retired from the job and was currently handling private security for a company, but I left it up to my brother to give Dev the details. Or not.

  Greg rolled over to the detective and held out his hand. “Thanks, Dev. We really appreciate your help.”

  “I’ll keep you posted as much as I can.”

  I stood up and gave Dev a hug. “When Clark returns, maybe you and Bev can come over for dinner and meet Mom before she goes.” Bev was Dev’s girlfriend, a schoolteacher he’d been seeing for some time.

  Under my embrace I felt Dev stiffen. I let go of him and studied his face but saw nothing but his cop mask.

  “Yeah, sure.” His tone held the enthusiasm of being invited to a wake. “That would be great.”

  When Dev was gone, I turned to Greg. “What did you make of that?”

  “Of what?”

  “Dev’s reluctance right now. He sure didn’t seem as friendly as usual.”

  “What do you expect, sweetheart?” Greg picked up his plate and glass from the table and wheeled them over to the sink. “He was here to tell us it looks like my cousin could be convicted as a killer.”

  I grabbed Dev’s coffee mug and joined Greg in the kitchen. “I don’t think it was just that.” I put the mug into the dishwasher, along with Greg’s plate and glass. “There’s something he’s not telling us.” I paused, holding the dishwasher half open. “I could almost smell it.” I shut the door as if punctuating my comment.

  Greg laughed. “What you smelled is a cop being cagey about what he can and cannot tell us.” He rolled back to the table. “Now let’s discuss our plans before Grace gets back.”

  I rinsed my hands at the sink and wiped them on a kitchen towel. “Our plans?”

  “We need to start checking out some stuff.”

  “What do you think I was doing yesterday?”

  “Checking into that Bob Y character was a nice start, but I think we need to start digging deeper and faster.”

  “I was thinking of paying some of those secondhand stores a visit. I could do that today if I can shake Mom.”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart, taking her along initially might be a good cover, as long as there’s no danger. But as soon as things heat up, you’ll need to get her out of the picture, not to mention yourself.” Greg fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “I’m sorry I can’t join you today. I have a big customer order to take care of, and Chris is out.” Chris Fowler was Greg’s right-hand man at the shop. “But he should be back tomorrow, then you and I can hit the road together. In the meantime, call or text me with anything you find out, and I’ll tackle any research I can from the office.”

  “Sounds good.” I walked over to the table and stroked my husband’s hair, using a lot softer strokes than he had earlier. I noticed a bit of gray starting to appear around his temples. It looked adorable—but then I’m biased. “But are you sure, honey, you don’t want to wait and see what the authorities come up with or at least wait until Clark takes Mom home?”

  He took my hand from his head and kissed it. “That would be the prudent thing to do, but I don’t think I can sit around and wait knowing Ina may go down in flames. It would drive me crazy. It’s bad enough she’s in jail.”

  “What if she’s guilty?”

  “Then she’s guilty. But until I know that for sure, I’m not going to stop looking into this mess.” He kissed my hand again. “You with me?”

  “Where else would I be?”

  ten

  We weren’t so lucky this time on the 405. It was bogged down, moving like a glacier as we headed north. Traffic was moving along nicely on the southbound side, but Torrance wasn’t south of us. It was north—twenty miles north. As slow as traffic was moving, you’d think we were driving an ox cart across bumpy, unpaved terrain. My mission today was to hit at least two of the secondhand stores on my list. The first stop was Goodwin’s Good Stuff in Torrance, but if traffic continued this bad, we’d be lucky to visit any stores beyond Buck’s. Hell, we’d be lucky to get to Buck’s at all.

  Buckled into the passenger’s seat next to me was Mom, buzzing with excitement like a Taser charged and itching to zap someone. I had tried my best to convince her to stay behind and rest, but no such luck.

  “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” she’d shot back at me as she wandered down the hall. “Give me a minute to powder my nose and grab my pocketbook.” I’d used that minute to squelch a moan of frustration.

  I glanced over at her when traffic came to a halt for the umpteenth time. The weather had turned cloudy and damp. The weatherman had said to expect light drizzle off and on the rest of the week. She sat primly in the seat next to me bundled in slacks, sweater, and a light jacket. Her purse was on her lap. Her hands clutched the top of it as if she was worried someone might smash the passenger-side window and snatch it. Greg might be right. Mom could be good cover for my nosiness. An elderly woman standing next to a middle-aged woman might give off an air of innocence. It seemed to have worked with Heide at the food truck. Problem was, Mom was a loose cannon. You never knew what was going to come out of her mouth. Yesterday’s blog bit had blown my socks off with surprise.

  Last night I’d taken my laptop to bed and looked Mom’s blog up while Greg read a book. The late news played on our TV. Reading and the news—it was our nightly ritual. I was still wondering if the blog had been a hoax to get Heide to talk, but it wasn’t. As soon as I’d keyed An Old Broad’s Perspective into the search engine, up popped the blog.

  “Greg, did you know my mother had a blog?”

  He looked at me over the top of his reading glasses. “A blog? Grace?”

  “Yes. It’s called An Old Broad’s Perspective and covers all kinds of topics. She’s even journaling about her visit here, including the murder at the storage locker.”

  “Is it any good?”

  “Surprisingly good. There are a lot of grammatical errors and it’s rather rustic and folksy in the wording, but it’s very entertaining.” I turned the laptop so he could see what I’d found. “And look,” I pointed out. “She’s already posted the photo of Heide van den Akker in front of the Comfort Foodies truck, along with an account of our day. At least she had the good sense to leave out the part about us nosing around.”

  Greg scanned the article, his lips pressed together to keep from laughing. “How’d she get the photo? Didn’t you take it?”

  “Mom insisted I take it with her phone.”

  “She’s pretty IT savvy for an old broad. Maybe I could use her at the shop while she’s here.”

  I looked Greg in the eye. “Did you know my mother had an iPad with her?”

  “Yeah, I did. She asked about using our WiFi while she was here. I set it up for her.”

  “And you didn’t think of telling me that?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you knew she had it.”

  “Not until today, when she threatened to do her own research if I didn’t let her come along.”

  This time Greg laughed out loud, giving LOL a whole new emphasis.

  “What’s so funny?”

>   “Nothing.” He straightened his glasses and went back to his book.

  “Nothing, my fat behind. Tell me.”

  Greg put his book on the nightstand and set his reading glasses on top of it. After turning off his light, he turned to me. “No way am I telling you what’s on my mind. I want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

  My nose twitched. “Does it have anything to do with apples falling from trees?”

  “Maybe.” He tapped my laptop. “Now put that thing away so we can get some sleep.”

  While I shut down my laptop and turned off the light on my side of the bed, Greg turned off the TV. Quiet and in the dark, we cuddled. Greg kissed my ear, but I could feel a snicker vibrating behind his lips.

  “I don’t know how you people put up with this.”

  I turned to Mom. We were still inching ahead on the freeway. “You mean the traffic?”

  “No, I mean the Rose Parade in January.”

  “No need for sarcasm, Mom.”

  She was right, though. I didn’t know myself how we put up with the increasingly horrible Southern California traffic. It seemed to be getting worse daily.

  “We just work around it best we can,” I told her. “Although this is very unusual. There’s probably an accident up ahead.”

  Mom leaned forward, peering out the front window with keen interest. “Or maybe another slow-speed cop chase like with O.J.”

  From the hope in her voice, I could tell she was already drafting her next blog entry.

  “By the way, Mom—I read your blog last night and really enjoyed it.”

  She turned to me in surprise. “You did?”

  “Yes. Greg and I both looked it over last night. You’re doing a nice job with it. I can see why you have so many readers.” I started to say something else but held my tongue.