Over Maya Dead Body

by Sandra Orchard

  “The police have no proof the deaths are connected to each other,” I said. Or to antiquities.

  “But . . . but . . . if they’re both connected to antiquities”—her eyes turned hollow—“that means Carly was right. Uncle Jack was—” Her voice broke on a sob and Preston pulled her into his arms.

  And I knew her well enough to know she wasn’t that good an actor. If Preston was somehow connected to the smuggling, Ashley was completely in the dark.

  “I’m afraid so,” I said softly and then met Preston’s gaze over Ashley’s shoulder. “The police brought you the statue?”

  “Yes.”

  Huh. My discussion with Moore at the beach must’ve convinced him to spread the investigation’s net a little wider. Or . . . Isaak had.

  “Call the police station if you don’t believe me,” Preston said defensively. “A cop watched me the whole time. Something about chain of custody.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. Were any of the items antiquities?”

  “No. I thought the red resin might’ve been masking something more valuable, so I scraped it. But it was solid resin. Either Charlie didn’t keep the stuff in his house or the cops had no clue what they were looking for.”

  “Or Charlie was innocent.”

  Preston shrugged. “Innocent men don’t usually get murdered.”

  An hour later, at my request Carmen parked his rental on Oak Bluff’s main shopping street. If my inquiries agitated our eBay seller, I didn’t want him seeing me with Aunt Martha and Carmen. As we poured out of the car, I said to Aunt Martha, “How about we meet back at Slice of Life Cafe for lunch in an hour and a half?” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’d like a chance to talk to Nate alone.” I knew that would win her approval without raising questions about anything else I might have up my sleeve. And if I did need to pull another trick out of said sleeve, I could reach her on her cell phone. I could always count on Aunt Martha to be game for an adventure.

  She cracked a satisfied smile, no doubt assuming I wanted to be alone with Nate. “Fine idea.”

  I led Nate through a small alley between the gingerbread cottages, their porches practically sitting on the sidewalk, and filled him in on my appointment and plan to surreptitiously scout the area for the seller before deciding how I should approach the meeting.

  He clasped my hand. “We should look like a couple enjoying the sights.”

  The warmth of his touch zinged through me, flaming into my cheeks. And what was I supposed to do with that? We were minutes away from making contact with a probable criminal. To cover my befuddlement and spying, I went into tour guide mode. “In the 1830s, people traveled from far and wide to attend revival meetings in the central tabernacle,” I babbled. “They erected their tents in the fields around it, and then over the years, these cottages replaced the tents.”

  As we reached the commons, I glimpsed Tanner taking in the sights too. Had Nate glimpsed him before me? Was that why he clasped my hand?

  My head started to hurt. Maybe Tanner was right about me, and I was inept at reading guys’ signals.

  Nate squeezed my fingers reassuringly as if he’d read my thoughts. He positioned me in front of a pretty pink house and snapped a photo on his cell phone, then repeated the exercise in front of a yellow one and a purple one as I took the opportunity to scan the grounds surrounding the tabernacle. No one except Tanner was in sight.

  Had my seller figured out it was a setup?

  Nate and I strolled along the row of houses flanking the other side of the central, park-like grounds. Suddenly he clasped me around the shoulder and positioned our backs toward another colorful house. “A selfie,” he said pressing his head to mine and smiling up at his cell phone camera held out at arm’s length. Under his breath, he added, “Two houses down, second-story window. There’s a guy with binoculars.”

  Laughing, I snatched his phone from him and motioned him toward the next house. “My turn to take a picture!” As I pretended to try to set it up just right, I slanted a glance at the window a nanosecond before a guy stepped back into the shadows.

  “What do you think?” Nate asked without moving his smiling lips.

  I snapped the picture of him, hooked my arm through his, and led him past the house. “I think you’re pretty good at this stuff.” I gave him back his phone and thumbed a message to Tanner on mine.

  “Not good enough to leave your sidekick at his hotel though?” Nate needled, the teasing lilt not quite succeeding at masking his disappointment.

  “Sorry. His badge might come in handy.”

  Nate patted my arm still hooked through his. “Hey, at least I get to play the date.”

  My heart hiccupped. Did that mean he wished we weren’t pretending?

  Focus! I headed for the cottage’s door.

  Nate caught my hand, stopping me short of the porch. “What are you doing?”

  “Introducing myself.” I tossed him a cheeky grin, but he didn’t look as if he appreciated it.

  He tightened his hold and stood his ground. “Are you sure that’s a smart thing to do?”

  “It’s unexpected. Catching people off guard gives you the upper hand.”

  “Hmm, I’ll have to remember that.” His gaze dropped to my lips, and a tingly feeling swirled through my tummy.

  The sensation was quickly eclipsed by the heat of Tanner’s glare on the back of my head, and I extricated myself from Nate’s grasp. He joined me at the door as I knocked.

  Finally, an older guy in sweat pants, a T-shirt, and a ball cap opened the screen door. “No solicitation is allowed in this neighborhood,” he barked.

  At his voice, I did a double take. “Oh, you’re Joe, right? The estate sales guy?” I almost didn’t recognize him in the casual clothes. “We met outside the funeral home yesterday.”

  “Sorry, I don’t remember. I go to the funeral home a lot.” He had the decency to look sheepish about admitting to blatant solicitation after slamming me for it seconds earlier.

  “You said you and Jack were old friends.”

  “Oh, right. You were with his niece. I remember now. How can I help you?”

  “I’m here about the amulet.”

  “The amulet?”—he turned a tad peaked—“I’m sorry. I don’t think I have one of those.”

  “The one you advertised on eBay,” I pressed, hoping to trip him up. “I’m your 11:00 a.m. appointment.”

  “There must be some mistake.”

  I nixed my “you do realize it’s a felony to lie to a federal agent?” line for a more amiable approach. “I know. I know. We were supposed to meet at the tabernacle, but I couldn’t help but notice you watching from your second-story window. Not that I blame you. I know how it is. You can’t be too careful these days when meeting a stranger.”

  “I wasn’t watching you,” he sputtered. His gaze bobbed from Nate to me to the tabernacle grounds behind us. “Birding,” he blurted. “That’s what I was doing. Watching the birds. I’m a birder.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I didn’t believe him, but I gave him my best I’m-so-embarrassed impression.

  “It must be fascinating to watch for the rock ptarmigan migrating back to the area this time of year,” Nate interjected.

  Joe visibly relaxed. “Yes, that’s always a spring highlight.”

  The corner of Nate’s lip twitched. Oh, he was quick. And he knew his birds better than this supposed birder.

  A phone rang from somewhere deeper in the house. “Excuse me,” Joe said. “I need to get that.” He shut the door in our faces before we could object.

  “He’s no birder,” Nate said, escorting me back to the sidewalk.

  I grinned. “Yeah, got that.” I angled a peek down the side of the cottage, but the next one sat too close to allow a glimpse into the backyard, and it didn’t look as if the street behind it would offer any better vantage point.

  “It’s past 11:00,” Nate said. “We going to plant ourselves in front of the tabernacle just in cas
e Joe was telling the truth about not being your scheduled appointment?”

  I shifted my focus to the grounds around the tabernacle. There was no sign of anyone else besides Tanner.

  “Why not?” I steered Nate toward a section less visible from Joe’s windows. “I’m sure he was lying, but I want to see what he does next.”

  Carmen and Aunt Martha meandered up a far alleyway.

  I texted her and asked her to stroll the next street and let me know if she saw Joe come out the back of the yellow and orange cottage. She texted back a smiley face and waved, before disappearing around the corner.

  Five minutes passed. Ten.

  Nate zeroed in on a petite Hispanic woman approaching the house. “You see that?”

  “I see her.” I glanced across the grassy grounds to where Tanner had parked himself on a bench with a decent view of both the house and tabernacle. His slight nod said he’d noticed the woman too.

  The woman rapped her knuckles on the front door and immediately let herself in.

  “There’s no sign of Joe or anyone on the other street,” Aunt Martha said, sashaying up to us, her arm hooked through Carmen’s.

  “Thanks anyway,” I said.

  “We walked back and forth more than half a dozen times,” Carmen added. “Figured we were starting to look suspicious.”

  Aunt Martha tipped her head back and admired the tabernacle. “I hear they’ll do weddings here,” she gushed.

  I choked on what I’d been about to say. Was that a hint for Nate? Or for Carmen?

  Before any of us could offer a pithy comeback, a shriek erupted from Joe’s cottage.

  18

  Tanner raced to Joe’s cottage, with Nate and me right behind him.

  The woman we’d seen enter the cottage a minute earlier burst out the door, gasping.

  Tanner reached her first. “What’s wrong?”

  She frantically jabbed a number into her cell phone. “He’s been stabbed!”

  Tanner pushed through the door as Nate guided her to a chair on the porch. “Go on,” he said to me. “I’ll stay with her and make sure paramedics are on their way.”

  I nodded and raced inside.

  “Over here,” Tanner called from the direction of the kitchen.

  Joe sat on the floor, his back propped against the counter, his legs sprawled, holding a tea towel to his neck.

  “Who stabbed you?”

  “No one stabbed me,” Joe said, irritation bleeding through his voice.

  Tanner picked up a small, half-full, blood-tipped hypodermic needle from under the edge of the oven. “Then where’d this come from?”

  Joe snatched it from Tanner’s hand, contaminating whatever fingerprints we might’ve lifted from the shaft. “I’m diabetic. Maria surprised me in the middle of preparing my insulin shot. My arm jerked. I must’ve fainted.”

  “Paramedics will be here soon,” I reassured, not buying his explanation. Why on earth have the needle pointed toward his face in the first place?

  “I don’t need a paramedic.” Joe started to push to his feet, then swaying a little, seemed to think better of the plan and plopped back on his behind. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sit another minute.”

  The back door stood slightly ajar. I glanced out the window but didn’t spot any movement. If only Aunt Martha had hung back a few moments longer. “Who else was here?” I asked.

  Joe hesitated.

  I pinned him with a sharp look.

  “I told you. Maria, my housekeeper.”

  “She came in the front door. Who ran out the back?”

  “No one.” Joe did push to his feet this time and tossed the needle into a pail under the sink. “Thanks for checking on me. I’ll be fine now.”

  Nate joined us. “He okay? Martha and Carmen are sitting with the woman. She’s pretty shaken up.”

  “I’m fine,” Joe reiterated, clearly losing his patience. His hand holding the tea towel dropped to his side, revealing a minor puncture that would probably be several nasty shades of purple by nightfall.

  Tanner urged him to sit in a chair. “I’ll feel better if you let me disinfect the wound before we go. Do you have antiseptic?”

  Joe exhaled a resigned sigh. “The medicine cabinet in the bathroom at the top of the stairs.”

  “I’ll get it,” I volunteered and hurried to the stairs, pausing long enough to scan the tabletops and bookshelves of the adjoining living room for evidence of the Egyptian amulet or other antiquities. Nothing.

  Nate trailed me up the stairs a moment later and whispered, “I told him I needed to use the facilities.” He was starting to sound as eager a sleuth as Aunt Martha.

  “If something’s not in plain sight, we can’t use it as evidence,” I instructed him and opened a door that could’ve been the bathroom. It wasn’t.

  It was a long bedroom with a sloped ceiling, its decor Spartan.

  Nate opened the door opposite. “Maybe this one’s the bathroom.”

  It was a mirror image of the other bedroom, this one with a view of the tabernacle. “I would’ve expected a guy who sells estates for a living to have more furniture and knickknacks than he could use,” I mused, scanning the room.

  “Notice what else isn’t here?” Nate asked.

  I jerked my chin toward the stack of thrillers on the night table. “Birding books. No surprise there.”

  Nate stepped into the room, fished the end of his sleeve over his hand, and opened the night table drawer.

  I smiled to myself at his improvisation.

  “That’s how they do it on TV,” he said, apparently reading my thoughts. It was kind of unnerving how adept he was at doing that.

  Nate glanced inside. “No binoculars either.” He peeked around the open closet, under the bed. “Whoever ducked out of the back door could’ve been our peeping Tom.”

  “Maybe a partner.” Maybe Ben.

  “We don’t need it anymore,” a woman’s voice drifted up the stairs. “The paramedics are here.”

  I hurried to the bathroom anyway and grabbed the disinfectant, accidentally on purpose leaving the medicine cabinet door open, then left the room to Nate and rushed back downstairs.

  Joe’s housekeeper stopped her ascent.

  “You feeling better?” I asked, urging her to turn around with me and return to the kitchen.

  “Sí, thank you for your help. You must think I’m loco. But I have this crazy fear of needles.”

  “Not a problem. I’m glad we could help.”

  “Your aunt and her friend told me to tell you they were heading to the restaurant,” Maria went on, although somehow I suspected that wasn’t all Aunt Martha was doing.

  By the time the paramedics finished treating the wound, Nate had returned, but the slight shake of his head said he hadn’t found anything useful.

  Joe shuffled us toward the door along with the paramedics, muttering his thanks.

  I hovered in the doorway long enough for the paramedics to move out of earshot and then said to Joe, “I’m guessing whoever did this to you already informed you that I’m a federal agent.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “Are you confident you’ll survive his next visit?”

  “I told you. It was an accident.”

  “Hmm. You realize it’ll only take a phone call to trace the source of the eBay ad.”

  He squirmed.

  “If we discover it’s you, you could be charged with obstruction of justice.”

  “Okay, yes, I placed the ad. It’s not a crime and neither is changing my mind about wanting to sell the amulet.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  “Yes, that is, my client did,” he said tersely. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, I need to recheck my blood sugar.”

  I stuck my foot in the doorway. “Wait. Did your client say why?”

  “No.”

  “What’s his name?” Tanner interjected.

  Joe’s attention snapped from my foot to Tanner. “That’s
privileged.”

  Tanner snorted. “You’re not a lawyer, doctor, or priest.”

  “Clients expect discretion.”

  “We can get a court order,” I said.

  “You do that.” Joe kicked my foot out of the way and closed the door without waiting for a response.

  Tanner squinted at the door as if he had X-ray vision and could see what Joe was up to behind it. “Do you think Joe was the smuggler your uncle planned to report to the feds?”

  “I think it’d be prudent to watch what he does next,” I said.

  “Maybe we should try asking Marianne about him,” Nate suggested. “She seemed to despise Joe enough to expose all his secrets.”

  “The woman just lost the two most important men in her life,” Tanner countered. “Do you honestly think she’s going to care about filling you in on Joe’s lack of business ethics?”

  “If she thinks his business is connected to Jack’s death she will,” I argued.

  Tanner gave me his patronizing field-training-officer look. “You can’t go in there like a bull in a china shop and expect to get answers. You need to tread lightly.”

  “We can do that.” I just wish I didn’t sound so defensive saying it. It wasn’t as if I wanted to intrude on Marianne’s grief. I turned to Tanner. “Do you mind keeping an eye on Joe? In case he makes a move.”

  “I can do that,” Tanner said tersely.

  “Oh, and maybe question the neighbors,” I added. “Find out if anyone saw someone leave by the back door, because I’m 95 percent positive Joe was lying about no one else being there.”

  “Already tried.” Aunt Martha and Carmen sidled up from around the side of the house. “No one’s home.”

  I suppressed a grin. I knew her restaurant comment to the housekeeper had to be a ruse. Aunt Martha’s curiosity was too acute to allow her to walk away from something so suspicious.

  “What now?” Aunt Martha asked.

  “Nate and I need to pay Marianne a visit,” I said, as Nate thumbed something into his phone. “Why don’t you and Carmen have lunch at the cafe, and we’ll catch up with you there?”