by Terri Thayer
“Imogene, honey, just sit now. Pretty soon, it’ll be time for Judge Judy.”
The woman quieted. April was surprised by Tammy. Away from the stampers, in her work environment, she seemed far more capable. She stood straighter, and although she wore scrubs festooned with cartoon characters, her manner was professional. Her hair was pulled back with two barrettes and her face was made up lightly, highlighted with lipstick. She soothed the woman in the wheelchair, stroking her back and talking softly. April knew she was on her turf now.
Tammy said, “I’ll take you to Mo and you can ask him about George. You’ll tell Deana whatever you find out?”
April didn’t see how she had much choice. She wanted to get in to talk to Mo, and this was her way in, so she agreed. George was being buried today, and that would be the end of Deana’s connection to this affair, but Tammy obviously thought Deana had some pull.
They found him in a small empty room, lined with shelves holding arts and crafts supplies. Rolls of white paper and jars of paint sat alongside canning jars full of brushes. He was standing at an easel, painting with water-colors, copying a bowl of fruit on the table. He was no artist. His colors were muddy and the shapes were irregular. The oranges looked like pomegranates with distended belly buttons, and the bananas resembled green beans.
Tammy called to him as they entered the room. “Feeling better today? I brought you a visitor. You remember April Buchert?”
He looked up blankly, his eyes watery from staring at his paints. His hand stopped in midstroke, but he smiled wanly when he saw Tammy. He seemed to know she was measuring him and was trying to respond in an upbeat manner.
April said, “We met the other morning at the Castle site. After the dynamite.”
“I remember,” he said. “You’re Ed’s kid.”
April nodded and approached him. Tammy hung back. “I’m sorry about George. Curly told me you were good friends,” April said.
His eyes saddened, and April felt a stab of regret for making him revisit tough times. She steeled herself to ask him more questions he wouldn’t want to answer and went on. “You and George were at the Castle the day before the explosion. I heard George took a fall.”
Mo shook his head ponderously. “The more I think about it, the more I think we shouldn’t have been out there.”
This was a different guy than the man she’d met on Wednesday. He’d had too much time to think. When she’d seen him after the blast, he’d been upset with Yost for thinking George had been hurt at the Castle. “Lamebrain” was the word he’d used to describe Yost’s theory.
Tammy said, “Mo, do you want to sit? You look a little unsteady.”
He shook his head.
He continued, slowly. “We didn’t know how overgrown the place had become. George wanted to check it out. He’d heard about the dynamite permit and wanted to see if it was warranted. He still had connections with the town, even though he hadn’t been the code enforcement officer for years.”
April didn’t want to ask if Mo saw Lyle in front of Tammy. If he was lying, she didn’t need to know. Maybe he just didn’t want to get involved in case George’s family sued Ed.
“And he fell?” April prompted, steering him way from the olden days. For now. As soon as she got rid of Tammy, she’d find out about Frankie Imperiale.
Mo held up a dripping paintbrush and pointed it. “He tripped, but he didn’t really fall. I don’t think that’s what killed him, if that’s what you’re asking. I mean, he got up, brushed himself off and went on. He didn’t even complain of an ache or a pain.”
But, April thought, he could have developed one later.
Mo was dabbing his brush on his palette. “I found him in his room later that night, not breathing. He looked awful, like his last moments on earth were hell. His face was twisted in an ugly grimace.”
Tammy grunted, making April wonder if the grimace was medically significant.
Mo continued. “I see that expression every time I close my eyes.”
Moving to his side, Tammy took the paintbrush from his hand and began rubbing his cheek. She murmured softly. Mo leaned into her. The tableau was so sad, April had to look away. The pain was coming off him like a heat wave.
April could see brightly colored feet coming down the hall. Slowly. Imogene, the woman in the wheelchair, was on the move. Tammy was going to be called out of here any moment. April kept an eye on Imogene’s methodical progress. The woman’s eyes sparkled with adventure. Mo was saying, “You expect to lose friends at my age, but George was the last one I thought would go.”
April racked her brains trying to think of more questions to ask. What would Deana ask?
“How did he behave on the way home from the Castle?” she asked. Imogene was getting closer. Tammy hadn’t noticed yet, but her nurse’s sense was sure to kick in soon. One of her charges was getting loose.
Mo said, “He was in a great mood. Very upbeat.”
With a loud cackle, Imogene broached the doorway. Behind her, a string of wheelchair-confined patients set up a racket, urging her to cross the threshold, like bettors at the racetrack race. Tammy finally saw her and lunged for the handles. She moved swiftly, taking Imogene back down the hall, telling her about keeping in line. The rest of the patients followed.
April took her chance and bent down to Mo. She whispered, “I’m trying to find out anything about Frankie Imperiale. He worked for my dad back when the Castle was being built. You had him in auto shop, remember?”
“Sure, I remember Frankie. I got him into the union . . .” His mind wandered. “George and I spent a lot of time on that job. George was the code enforcement officer, and I was just interested. It was fascinating to watch. I like to watch construction. Still do.” His voice caught as if he’d remembered it would just be him and Curly from now on. “I don’t know if I will anymore, though.”
April needed him to get back on track. “I heard that George didn’t really like Frankie.”
Mo sighed. “No one liked Frankie much. Your dad couldn’t see it, but the kid was a con man. Always playing the angles.”
“What kinds of cons?” April remembered her father talking about materials disappearing off the Castle job. “Was he stealing?”
Mo shrugged. “George thought he was. That job was wide open. No one knew what was going on.”
“There’s always a market for copper pipe and fixtures,” April said thoughtfully. She knew rings of stolen goods were always being busted. Maybe that’s what Frankie was up to. Mo was right. The Castle was the perfect job to steal from. With Warren Winchester constantly changing his mind, it must have been impossible to keep track of what was going in and out.
She gave Mo a kiss on the cheek and, at his insistence, promised to visit him again.
Tammy was back behind the front desk, her wheelchair wards lined up and quieted. She stopped April.
“What did you find out? Will you ask Deana to investigate?”
April shook her head. “I’m sorry, Tammy. There’s nothing suspicious about George’s death that I can see.” And there wasn’t. George was an old man who died in his bed in a nursing home. He was connected to the Castle, and Frankie’s death, only in the past. Still, as she left, April felt Tammy’s eyes burning holes in her back.
April thought things over as she drove home from the nursing home. Mo had known Frankie, and it was possible George had suspected him of stealing things. Why hadn’t George turned him in? Maybe Frankie had died before George had the evidence he needed. Or maybe they were working together. Would George have killed him?
April wondered if Yost would talk to her about this. Was there a police report about stolen goods back then?
Her dad didn’t seem to have a clue. He’d been so distracted that summer by his personal issues, the whole job could have been stolen out from under him, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Coming back to the present, April decided she’d stop by the barn and see if Lyle had been by for the checks yet.
If he hadn’t, she’d bring them to her father. And talk to Yost.
The checks were right where she’d left them, on her father’s desk. April scooped them up and headed for the police station.
When she got there she found Officer Yost seated at his desk. The office was small, only big enough for one desk, shared by Yost and the police chief. The phone rang but Yost didn’t pick it up.
“Good morning, Miss Buchert,” he said, with a sinister curve to his lips. He was enjoying her family’s discomfort. April looked down the hall, where the holding cell was. She couldn’t hear anyone moving about. Not a cough or a sigh.
“Where’s my dad?” she asked.
“Up at the barracks. The state police thought he’d be more comfortable up there. And before you ask, no, you can’t see him.”
April’s cheeks flamed. This guy made her so angry. She wanted to hit him.
She forced herself to sound calm. She didn’t want him to get the upper hand. “Did you find any more bones?”
He leaned back in his chair. He must have studied the Smokey and the Bandit movies, because he managed to resemble a Southern sheriff by adjusting his body language.
April didn’t trust herself to speak. She forced herself to wait. He wanted her to get upset and say something stupid.
Finally he said, “The state police have found more bones.”
“With b . . . b . . . bullet holes?” April blurted, all her hard-won coolness leaving her.
He had a satisfied look on his face. “Too early to tell.”
April cursed herself for letting him get to her. She tried to regain her equilibrium. Any thought of telling him what she’d found out vanished. There was no way he’d listen to her.
“He’s innocent,” she said. “You can’t hold him forever.”
“I can hold him long enough,” Yost said, his slick grin returning.
Vince had to get Ed out of jail. Now.
April ran out of the police station, her stomach churning. She had to talk to Vince. And tell him to call their lawyer.
She took the highway up to the Heights, blowing through nearly red lights and risking the ire of truckers by passing them on the right.
At the job site, Vince was on a walk-through with a client inside the stone Federal house. He ignored her attemps to get his attention.
Frustrated, she found Lyle head down in the blueprints spread out on a kitchen island. “What’s up? You look upset,” he said.
“Yost,” she said. Lyle grimaced. “And I need Vince to sign the payroll checks.”
“No problem. Leave them with me. I’ll make sure he signs them and that the men get paid.”
The churning in her stomach lessened. “That would help a lot.”
“At your service,” Lyle said.
She handed over the checks. As she turned to go, April said, “So did you get that pipe shipment straightened out?”
Lyle froze, and looked at her queerly. “Pipe?”
“Mitch saw you at Mirabella this morning.”
His face relaxed. “Oh that. Yup, all figured out.”
“Okay,” she said.
When April returned to the barn, Mitch’s Jeep was in the driveway. She hadn’t realized he knew where the barn was, but of course he’d worked with Ed before. He must have been to Retro Reproductions’ offices.
He was sitting on the bench outside the front door. She sensed a little flurry in her belly that felt, oddly enough, like excitement. There was no denying he was a good-looking guy. Even sitting down, leaning on his knees, fingers in his hair, he exuded strength and competence. In her mind she substituted her own hand for the one combing through his hair. And he’d come by to see her. Did he miss her? They hadn’t had much time to talk this morning. She tucked her shirt back into her jeans and checked her hair in her rearview.
He stood when she got out of her car. As she got closer her excitement turned to something else. This was not the laid-back, ready-to-help guy she’d met earlier. His face was shuttered, unreadable.
“Hey,” she said hesitantly.
“You need to leave my sister alone,” he said without preamble. His mouth was tight, as though he was forcing the words through his lips. “I know she acts tough, but she’s not. Stop asking questions about her graduation party. Stop visiting the nursing home. Stop talking to Mo.”
April was confused by his angry tone. “Slow down, Mitch. I’m just trying to keep my father out of jail.”
How had he known she was at the nursing home? Tammy must have cried to Rocky, and Rocky had complained to her brother. That’s the way the small-town telegraph system worked. With cell phones, the word spread even faster.
“I don’t know what Tammy told you—”
Mitch was not listening. “My sister was protecting her friend. And she paid a heavy price. Too heavy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Frankie was a no-good, scum of the earth. He couldn’t shine my sister’s shoes. After what he did to Tammy, he got what he deserved.”
April’s heart pounded. What if Frankie had done something to Rocky? Was the whole Winchester clan overprotective? Would Mitch have acted? Could Mitch have killed? She took a step back.
“What did he do?” she asked.
“You don’t know?” Mitch searched her face. She shook her head.
Mitch moved his eyes off her and focused on a tall pine tree. April could see a hawk in the very top. Mitch’s voice was quiet. “It’s not my story to tell.”
April’s mind was reeling. “I don’t understand.”
“The only thing that matters is that when Rocky found him, he had a sizable stash of marijuana on him. She can be formidable, my sister, and she threatened him with everything our family name could rain down on him. She told him to leave town or she’d turn his drugs over to Yost.”
He was quiet for a few moments. “He left, and she never heard from him again. She thought that was the end of things. Unfortunately, after everyone had gone home, Yost came to the house because of the neighbors’ complaints, and Rocky let him in. He found Frankie’s marijuana. The quantity was enough to trigger an intent-to-sell charge. Rocky was looking at hard time.” He was lost in the past. April’s stomach clutched. She’d had no idea what had really gone down at the party that night. But Mitch hadn’t even been there.
“I thought you were away at college,” she said softly.
He didn’t hear her. “It cost my father everything to keep her out of jail. He sent her to France the next day. That’s the real reason the Castle never got finished. He went broke making sure she was never prosecuted. Lawyers cost a bundle.”
“And my dad went bankrupt,” April said bitterly.
“I am sorry about that,” Mitch said, coming back to the present. “I’ve done everything I can to build his reputation back up. I always recommend Retro Reproductions to my clients. I’m your father’s personal public relations man.”
She shook her head. “My father . . .”
Mitch looked at her, for the first time. “You’re not your father, any more than I’m mine. They made mistakes, each of them. But we don’t have to let their mistakes define us.”
CHAPTER 15
April’s mind was spinning as she watched him leave. Rocky hadn’t told her the truth about the party. Neither had Piper. Had Tammy? She knew where all of them would be tonight. At the country club, at the all-night stamping party. She’d go and find out. Because someone in the stamping group knew the answer to what happened that night. Everything pointed to them. Many of them had known Frankie. Rocky nearly went to jail over his pot. He was Piper’s lover. Everyone else in town seemed to have forgotten him, but not the stamping group.
April gathered her stamping supplies in her old Lancŏme bag and dressed in ratty sweats and a paint-stained T-shirt. If she was going to stay up all night, she wanted to be comfortable.
Then she remembered her mother was working tonight. It was some kind of casino night at the club. She changed into h
er good jeans and a button-down blue shirt. Her mother wouldn’t need to be ashamed of her daughter for dressing like a bum, pajama party or not.
She got to the club just after nine. Deana had told her the stampers would be in the Hazle Room. She knew where that was, near the kitchen on the opposite side from the bar where she and Mitch had cut through yesterday. The book-lined room was decorated just as she remembered, with nail-headed leather furniture and dark green wallpaper. Several large cherry library tables filled the center of the space. Someone had strung industrial-sized power strips under the table, taping down the cords with duct tape.
Luggage-type rolling carts and plastic bins littered the floor. The stampers were all here and had already started on their projects. Deana greeted April as she entered and dumped her bag at a spot Deana had saved for her. But she wasn’t ready to sit just yet; she walked around the room, looking at what everyone was working on.
Mary Lou grabbed her hand. “We’re happy you’re here.”
April was glad someone was glad to see her. She asked, “What are you doing?”
Mary Lou smiled. “I’m making tags. I hang one on each of the housewarming gifts I send. My clients love the homemade touch.” She’d personalized them with items she knew the new owners liked. A dog stamp for a poodle lover, a pig for a collector of all things porcine. A sail for those lucky enough to have a boat.
“Those are lovely,” April said sincerely. The tags had nice proportion, and Mary Lou had a great sense of color.
“Check this out,” her daughter said. Kit showed her her copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. She’d painted a mustache on the beatific mother on the cover. “I’m altering this to reflect my pregnancy.” Kit held up the page she was working on. It was a journal entry about swollen feet. A handsome, long-haired man sat on the end of a bed, rubbing the feet of a woman whose face was obscured by her gigantic belly. Kit had stamped words of endearment in a balloon coming out of his mouth.
“Oh, so this is fantasy,” April joked.