by Leslie Nagel
Vanessa shot him a look that would freeze motor oil. “From where I’m standing, it looks like they’re taking recruits right out of kindergarten.” Mitch’s ears blazed red.
“One shoplifter, delivered as promised.” Sean trotted up, both hands clamped firmly on a teenage boy in a blue sweatshirt. “Little bastard got all the way to Smith Gardens before I caught up with him. You’re paying for my dry cleaning, buddy. Just so you know.”
The hood was down, revealing chin-length brown hair straggling over a sullen expression. When the kid glanced up and took in the crowd—specifically the uniformed safety officer—he stopped struggling. Sullen turned tearful in an instant. Charley’s heart sank as she recognized a local boy, the son of one of her regular customers.
“Zach Martin. What in the world possessed you?”
The boy burst into tears. “I’m nu…ot a rat,” he managed between sobs.
“Not a rat, huh? Implies there’s something to rat out.” Zach responded to this by grabbing his left arm. Charley stepped forward and yanked up his left sleeve. Someone had drawn a pretty good version of a barbed wire tattoo around his thin bicep with purple felt-tipped marker. Mitch drew in a sharp breath.
“What’s going on?” Sean demanded. “Rat out who?”
“The Purple Tang. Oakwood’s very own version of a street gang,” Mitch explained, dismayed. “I thought they dissolved last summer when a couple of kids got sent to juvie for boosting a car.”
“Let me guess. The price of admission into this Purple Tang is the commission of a crime. Like, maybe, petty theft. Is that about it?” Sean shook his captive gently. The boy hung his head, refusing to answer. “You may as well spill it, pal, because the next thing that happens here is we call mommy and daddy. Somebody’s going to open up a can of whoop-ass. The smart move is to come clean and play for sympathy.”
At the mention of his parents the boy looked even more terrified. Still, he remained stubbornly silent.
“What did he steal?” Vanessa asked.
Sean reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a silver satin evening bag. “Exhibit A. Had it stuffed under his hoodie. Officer, he’s all yours.”
“All this trouble for a purse?” Dmitri asked. “Not much of a gang, if you ask me.”
“What do you know, faggot?” Zach’s red-rimmed eyes blazed with defiance.
Charley gasped, outraged. Vanessa started forward; Dmitri restrained her with a gentle hand, his face expressionless.
The boy jerked his shoulders, but Mitch held fast. “You think you know everything, but we’re smarter than any of you. The Tang’s gonna rule this lame excuse for a town, you’ll see. We’ve already—” He clamped his mouth shut.
“Already what?” Charley was struck by a terrible thought. “Oh, my God, Zachary, are you kids responsible for these burglaries? There’s been criminal damage, Zach! This goes way beyond shoplifting.”
“Hold the phone.” Sean gaped at her. “Did you just take one look at this kid and solve the big burglary case?”
“It’s a reasonable theory. Those break-ins were pretty amateurish. Luckily for us these kids are stupid enough to advertise their membership.” Mitch indicated Zach’s arm. “This could be the lead Detective Brixton’s been hoping for.”
“How about it, Zach?” Charley asked. “Are you willing to cooperate?”
“Hold up,” Mitch said firmly. “He’s a minor. He can’t be questioned without a parent or guardian present.”
“Not officially, no. But I’m not the police.” Charley pulled out her cellphone, scrolled through her contacts, and selected one. She held the display in front of Zach and watched his face turn white. “That’s right, honey, I’ve got your mom’s cell number. I’m going to call it right now. Unless…” Her finger hovered above the touch screen. “I’ll consider dropping the shoplifting charges. All of this will go away except the truancy issue. Can’t help you there.”
“Really?” Zach’s eyes filled with a desperate hope. “You won’t tell my mom?”
“My solemn oath,” she affirmed. “But in return, I want to know right this minute whether the Purple Tang is responsible for those break-ins.” When he hesitated, Charley smiled sadly. “You know what your Tang buddies are going to do when you get expelled and sent to juvie? They are going to laugh, Zach. They won’t be impressed with your loyalty. They’ll think you’re an idiot for taking the rap. Why ruin your life for a bunch of losers who only hang out with you as long as you do what they say?”
“I’m not a cop, either.” Vanessa stepped into the boy’s personal space. “If you don’t tell Charley what she wants to know, I will personally tell every girl at your high school you wet your pants when you got arrested.”
That did it. “He’s got kids bagging up pot on the weekends,” Zach said quickly. “But I’m only a lookout, I swear.”
Mitch’s eyes went wide, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Bagging pot?” Charley controlled her voice with an effort. “How much are we talking about?”
“I dunno. Corey says—” He stopped abruptly.
“Corey?” she prompted.
“Corey Reynolds,” Mitch murmured through stiff lips. “A Tang leader as of last summer. Man, this is so—” He blushed when Vanessa shot him a scathing glance.
“You need to tell me what you know, Zach. Everything”—Charley lifted her phone—“or the deal’s off.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “Corey recruited me. He recruits all the members. He’s the only one who’s ever seen the K-Man.”
“The K-Man,” she repeated. “He’s your leader? He brings in the pot for you kids to bag?”
Zach nodded. “Damp weed goes moldy in less than a week, Corey says, especially when it’s all shrink-wrapped in those huge bales. They gotta spread it out right away, and the base has these long tables. And dry, you know? They’re never gonna find another place half so perfect. No one living there, no one to see us come and go.”
“Where’s your base?” Charley asked, as Mitch gave up and pulled out his notebook. “And why would you need to find another place?”
“Some garage in the woods,” he said dully. “I don’t know exactly. A bunch of kids heading toward an empty house would be suspicious, so Corey makes us sneak in through Hills and Dales Park. Doesn’t matter now anyway, ’cause the owners are back. Well, the old lady’s dead, so it’s her kids, I guess. They’re tearing it all down next week. All the outbuildings, including the garage, the pool house—all of it, even the trees, Corey says, just so they can build a bunch of stupid houses.”
There was a long beat of stunned silence.
“Mulbridge House,” Charley managed at last. “Some loser calling himself the K-Man is using the Mulbridge House garage to receive and distribute marijuana in bulk. And he’s got a pack of minors doing his dirty work. Is that about it?” When Zach nodded, she exhaled deeply. “I will not be pursuing shoplifting charges, Officer Cooper.”
“Understood. You’re still coming with me, Zach. As soon as we can contact one of your parents, I need a formal statement so we can get a search warrant.” With a final glance at Vanessa, Mitch hustled his miserable prisoner toward the Safety Building.
“The plot thickens,” Sean murmured.
Charley turned with a start. “Do you think this will affect the Planning Commission vote? Maybe cause another delay?”
He groaned. “Jesus, I hope not. There’s already been a couple of incidents with— Like I said, I need to talk to a detective. Marc Trenault, if I can ever catch him at his desk.”
“Incidents?” Charley asked, alarmed. “What kind of incidents?”
Sean lifted a hand. “Nothing serious, Red. But it is a police matter.” Once again she saw those shadows moving behind his eyes, but before she could ask him what he meant, Dmitri spoke.
“Back to the real world.” He cocked a brow at his sister. “I want you to meet Afiya. Then we’ll discuss this ‘live with you’ concept.”
“You know retail?” Charley’s antennae went on alert.
“Been merchandising and working registers since I turned sixteen.” Vanessa smiled. “I love clothes. Not that you can tell from this getup…”
“I’ll pay you twelve dollars an hour,” Charley interrupted. “Part-time, maybe twenty hours a week? We’re closed Mondays. Every third weekend off.” Vanessa started to speak, but Charley hurried on. “I’ll work with your school schedule. My last sales assistant was a student at Wright State, so I know how that goes. I own Old Hat Vintage Fashions.” She pointed toward her shop, where Heddy waved from the doorway. “Right there. You and Dmitri could carpool.”
“Okay, okay!” Vanessa was laughing, hands held out in front of her. “I think I accept! Man, you must be desperate.”
“I am, but if you’re half the fashion diva your brother is, you’ll be perfect.”
Vanessa declared she’d only need a couple of days to settle in before starting work, including a quick return home to Cleveland to retrieve the bulk of her clothing and other essentials.
“I didn’t want to assume anything,” she said softly. Dmitri rolled his eyes.
“I think we all know that’s a lie. My condo’s got two extra bedrooms, and you can’t afford your own place on part-time money if you’re paying tuition—” He was almost knocked to the ground by the exuberance of his sister’s hug.
“I’ll be the perfect roommate! You’ll never even know I’m there.”
He held her tightly, and Charley’s heart broke a little for her friend. Dmitri put up a good front, but she knew how lonely he truly was.
“Since you’re here,” she suggested with a smile, “let’s check out my shop and make sure you really want the job.”
As Charley turned toward Old Hat, a yellow flutter caught her eye. Stuck in the shrubbery were some crumpled papers. She retrieved them, intending to throw them away. Then she glimpsed the words “Mulbridge House Sale” written across the top of the first page. She smoothed out four sheets of lined legal paper, stapled in one corner. She recognized them instantly. These were the pages she and Frankie had helped Pamela Tate prepare last night. Mitch had been exiting Prescott’s when he started chasing Vanessa, which meant Pamela had finally called the police about the theft of the sales records.
Charley’s eyed widened. Three entries on the first page leapt out at her. She read quickly, a horrible suspicion growing, and there they were, three additional entries on page two that validated her fears. Incredibly, she had just read all six of these names in the special edition of the Oakwood Register.
What the paper had failed to include, because they didn’t know about it, but Pamela’s list confirmed, was the fact that a definite link existed between all six burglaries.
Every single burglary victim had purchased books from the Mulbridge private library at last weekend’s estate sale.
“Mitch! Wait!” she called. Dmitri and Vanessa halted as Charley took off running.
Sean stared after her. “Was it something I said?”
“Charley?” Dmitri yelled. “What gives?”
“I know what Calvin’s killer was searching for!”
As if anyone with a pulse could ignore a statement like that. Hand in hand, brother and sister sprinted toward the Safety Building, hard on Charley’s heels, with Sean Ambrose bringing up the rear.
Chapter 9
“Guess my invitation got lost in the mail.”
Everyone around Charley fell silent. As she turned and their eyes met, she could see the tension in Marc’s body subtly transform, vibrations striking an answering chord in her own. His cop’s eyes scanned the space swiftly but, finding no threats, he folded his arms and took in the scene at his leisure.
Half a dozen people, officers and admins, stood in the main aisle where they’d been listening to her. Hands clasped behind his back, Paul beamed like a proud teacher watching a favorite pupil deliver an A+ speech. Camille Bronsen read through a stack of police reports, fingers shoving impatiently at her short brown hair. As Zach Martin, eyes puffy from crying, tried to sidle away, Mitch Cooper reached out, palmed the boy’s head like a hairy basketball, and propelled him into a visitor’s chair. Dmitri and Vanessa whispered together, dark eyes wide.
Close beside her stood Sean, reading over her shoulder. Marc had sized up Vanessa and Zach at a glance, but his gaze narrowed as it fell on Sean, momentary puzzlement giving way to wary recognition.
“Marc! I found—” she began, before everyone around her started talking at once. The words “thieves,” “Mulbridge House,” “drug ring,” “books,” and “Calvin” ricocheted around the room before Marc raised both hands. Silence fell again.
“One at a time.” His eyes roamed the group before stopping on her. “How about we hear from Daphne. Then Shaggy, Scooby, and the rest of the gang can fill in the blanks.”
Charley took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Marc was about to find out she’d been poking into his case, but she hoped his annoyance would be offset by the amazing lead she’d just uncovered. “Okay.” She lifted the papers in her hands. “I figured out why Calvin’s killer stole the Mulbridge House sales record. He wants a list of everyone who bought books from the Mulbridge library.”
“Books? What makes you so sure?”
“The proof’s right here. Pamela Tate gave Mitch this list of names and purchases.”
“Is that so?” Marc smiled pleasantly. “I can’t wait to hear why you’re in possession of evidence in my murder case.”
Mitch said quickly, “I picked it up this morning like you asked, but I must’ve dropped it when I tackled Vanessa.”
“Who’s—”
“That was not my fault, Boy Wonder.” Vanessa jabbed a finger at Mitch; his ears reddened right on cue. “And you still owe me an apology.” Before he could retort, Charley interrupted.
“The important thing is what’s in these papers. I made the connection because I’d just been reading the special edition of the Oakwood Register. I know most of the victims who’ve been burglarized. And they’re all right here, Marc, and all six of them bought books at the Mulbridge House sale!” She thrust the crumpled sheets of yellow legal paper into his hands. “See? I’ve circled the names.”
Paul offered him an OR, folded to display the listing of burgled home owners. “It’s a match, pard. Nancy Drew does it again.”
Sean chuckled. “I haven’t had this much fun since I doubled down at Hialeah against the governor and Miss Miami Beach. I mean, I actually collared a suspect!” When Paul raised his brows, Sean’s grin turned sheepish. “Sorry.”
Marc perused Pamela’s list. “You’re right, the six names match.” He glanced up at her. “But I don’t see how this proves motive in my murder case. Five of these six also bought a number of other items at the sale. How can you be sure it’s the books specifically the killer is after?”
“Have you ever heard of SOAP?” At Marc’s blank stare, Charley explained. “Sustain Oakwood’s Architectural Past is the main group protesting the demolition of Mulbridge House. Their president is a woman named Millicent Peache.” Charley described Millie’s unauthorized attempt to search books prior to the auction, the desperate behavior and subsequent dismissal of her fellow SOAP members from the sale, and finally Millie’s own ejection over an antique Bible. “Another book,” she stressed.
Marc said drily, “I know what a Bible is. What I don’t get is why the members of a club—called SOAP, for godsakes—are interested in those books.”
“Calvin told Holland Mulbridge and me that Millie was searching for a second will, one that leaves the house in trust to SOAP. They want to turn it into a museum.”
Dmitri laughed. “That wreck? It’s falling down, Charley. How could they hope to restore it?”
“I didn’t say it made sense, just that they believe it. And if you accept
SOAP’s involvement, you explain both the motive and the timing of Calvin’s murder.” Charley started ticking points off on her fingers. “For the last eighteen months, these people have been powerless, biding their time, watching and waiting. Maybe they figure Holland will put Mulbridge House on the market and they can use an open house to gain access. But then, a few months ago, Holland and Jamie Mulbridge announce plans to tear the house down. They roll out their redevelopment scheme. Bad news, but SOAP still hopes that, when the house is dismantled, the will’s going to turn up.”
Marc said slowly, “Except when Calvin Prescott begins merchandising the contents, he doesn’t find anything, so Millie and her friends try to find it themselves.”
“Exactly.” Thrilled that he was listening instead of summarily dismissing her, she hurried on. “Time’s running out. They start to panic. When all their efforts fail and they’re forced to watch those books being sold off to a bunch of strangers, someone resorts to the break-in at Prescott’s. They need to find out where all those boxed lots of books ended up. Calvin interrupts their search, so they just”—Charley swallowed hard—“eliminate the obstacle.”
Paul added, “It fits with my crime scenes, too. We’ve been focusing on what was actually taken. But in every instance, the thieves tossed around all the books they could find. In two homes the books from Mulbridge House were still in their boxes, and the thieves emptied them out and rifled every single one. In fact,” he mused, “all these places presented more like a search than any kind of methodical burglary. The items stolen were small and in plain sight.”
Camille tapped the stack of reports she’d been reading. “I think the thieves grabbed those items on their way out, almost as an afterthought, to hide what they were really after. No larger electronics stolen, no art, no jewelry from upper floors. Just stuff from rooms adjacent to the home office or den, wherever the books were.”
Paul’s dark, hooded eyes glittered. “We’re working the same case, pard.” Mitch and Camille exchanged swift smiles.
“Possibly,” Marc temporized. Charley opened her mouth to protest this lukewarm assessment, but the tight line of his jaw made her decide not to push her luck. He pointed at Mitch. “Moving on. I gave you one assignment, Officer.”