“Sheila,” Jasper said.
“You just relax back there.”
Deal with death much? Panicked was how Jasper felt. All body parts that registered in her overwhelmed brain felt sweaty: hands, feet, face. Even her brain was sweating. Not only had something happened to Jimmy, but here she was on her first night of auctioneering sitting in the back of a police car. There was nothing like the smell of other people’s lies and fears and a bullet-proof window between police and prisoner section to heighten her already off-the-charts emotion. She fidgeted. Her knees bumped up against the back of the front seat.
“Got your seat belt on?” Glenn asked kindly.
“Uh-huh.”
“Would you like a pop or something? We could go through Mickey D's on the way over,” Officer Sheila offered. “There’s no real hurry here.”
“No hurry?”
Glenn turned to the other officer and said something in a low voice. Sheila whispered back.
Jasper pretended they were not talking about her. Sticks and stone may break Jimmy’s bones... She studied the lights in other people’s houses as they sped by. What were these other normal people doing this evening? Fixing the kids mac and cheese? Kicking back for a lazy evening on the sofa? Jasper would have killed for a big bowl of cheesy pasta and a remote control. She would even be happy if she could auctioneer for another round. Nothing like an emergency to put the rest of life in perspective.
There was no siren going, but when another vehicle slowed them down, Sheila would reach toward the console and jab a button that made that wah-wah sound she knew from TV cop shows. The civilian would clear out of the way. Glenn would step on the gas. Jasper was getting a little car sick.
The officers argued sotto voice. You told her, didn’t you? Yeah. She knows. But just the same.
“Sorry,” said Officer Sheila.
“No, nothing for me, thanks. And there really is no hurry, is there? I mean, maybe we could take a drive around the park on our way. Hmm?” Jasper didn’t want the nice police officer to feel badly about anything.
“Which park?” Officer Sheila asked.
“I think that’s a line from an old movie,” Jasper said. “I guess I’m not very funny, am I?”
Sheila murmured to Glenn.
“Just sit back,” Glenn told Jasper. “We’re almost there.”
The back windows of the squad car were steamed up. Cars did that when the heat was high and the night was bone chill lonely. The Midwest knew how to do heart-breaking spring rains really well. But why wouldn’t a police car have special window de-steamers, she wondered. Of course if you thought about it, you realized that Forest Grove police cars were just Chevies refitted with the accoutrements of law enforcement – the prisoner barrier, the radios, the siren and light equipment.
Jasper felt as if she were under arrest herself. She did yoga breathing to steady herself. She had never been in trouble. She was a good girl to a fault. A good woman. Girl. Sure, she got angry. But she didn’t rage like her stepfather Jimmy. No, her crimes, if any, were of the passive aggressive type. Could you be arrested for secretly spitting in her soon-to-be-legally-ex-husband's communion grape juice? Was there a law, an obscure law it would have to be, somewhere, one of those that state legislators had forgotten to erase from the books that forbade misplacing a minister’s last clean clerical collar so that he had to borrow one’s own white dickey? Probably pressing a dime into a bowl of December morning oatmeal and then claiming it was an old Norwegian custom when one’s then more-or-less-full-fledged husband bit into it and chipped a tooth bordered on criminal intent. But no, Scandinavians did do something like that – but maybe it was a gold coin or just an almond – and okay, she wasn’t Swedish, Danish or Norwegian although a lot of people around these parts were and heaven knows she could’ve picked it up from them, Your Honor.
The squad car pulled to a stop.
There was one second of silence. Then from somewhere came an indecisive noise– a whine. Like a chainsaw that can’t make up its mind or a ghost that’s new to haunting.
“Neighbors?” Jasper asked.
The whine started up again. A saw in somebody’s garage shop down the street, no doubt.
“The Camry belongs to the Austrings,” Glenn said.
“Aren’t they Japanese?” Jasper pulled Kelly’s borrowed sweater closer around her shoulders. Even though the squad car was toasty warm, her hands felt icy. They’d turned yellow and purple. Raynaud’s Disease. Nothing to worry about. Lots of women especially had it. Not her twin. But worry brought on the poor circulation and Jasper was prone to worry.
Glenn spoke slowly. “The Austrings. They’re the people who want to buy this house. They’re the ones who found your father.”
“Stepfather. Did you know we always called him Jimmy?”
“We’d better get inside.” He got out and came around to open her door.
Jasper sat. Then with a sudden longing for cold fresh air, she thought Rise and walk and stepped out into a puddle on the uneven sidewalk. “Sorry,” she said. Jasper was well practiced in apologizing for things not her fault.
It was a quiet street. A lone car drove by. Jasper heard the crunch of its tires against the gravel wash on the opposite side of the road. Glenn escorted her up the walk. The short march felt familiar. Ah. That old familiar processional. Jasper was well practiced in processionals – up and down the aisles of many churches in many towns.
Processionus Gravitatus.
The small house looked more worn out tonight than when Jasper had first viewed it alongside Jimmy two days earlier. Now it looked its age and its history. Generations of hard working factory folk had lived their lives here. Its wooden sides looked thin as if they provided little protection from the Midwest’s notorious cold and damp.
The detective’s brown and gold trainers seemed to lift him above the puddles. Her own sensible sneakers hit every small pond. They climbed three steps to the porch. Up close, the house breathed out a smell of rotting wood, a poor smell like nothing for dinner but bowls of thin soup. Glenn reached for the doorknob. Jasper hesitated, drops of water from the overhang torturing the back of her neck. Then she scraped her feet rightleftrightleftrightleft on the Beware of Dog unwelcome mat and followed him in.
Jasper shivered. She sneezed three times into the sleeve of her borrowed sweater. “Sorry.”
The lighting inside was indifferent. Jasper automatically reached for the light switch she remembered was on her left. Nothing. She looked up at Glenn’s face, almost invisible now except for his gleaming eyes and teeth.
“The old guy, the owner, had it cut off. We checked with the power company.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen – not until we get the house sold, I think.” Jasper said, happy to think about a practical problem for a few minutes.
“Yeah, and it’s damn inconvenient!” said a male voice from the direction of the sofa.
Jasper turned. Her eyes were adjusting now to the half-light and the curtains stood open to let in the weird orange of the street lamp outside. The man, a stranger in his late twenties, sat by a woman of the same age next to him.
“Hush,” the woman said. “That’s her. You know.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Jasper stared at them wordlessly. Then something of her usually polite self resurfaced. “You’re the Austrians?” she asked.
“Austrings. Emily and Kiefer,” the young woman said. “We’re buying this house”
“You still want to?” Jasper asked.
“I knew it! I knew it!” Kiefer Austring said, starting to get to his feet. “There is something wrong with this place.”
Jasper glanced at Glenn. Can you believe these people?
He shot them a professional policeman on the job look that pinned young Mr. Austring in place.
Jasper mustered her last remaining ounce of professional courtesy. “There’s nothing wrong with this house. The man who owns it is ….old and a little confused. He told Power & Li
ght to switch off the electricity. It’ll be back on tomorrow. It works fine. OK?”
“Well,” the man began, still a little grumpy.
“Kiefer!” hissed his wife.
Officer Sheila stood keeping an eye on the young couple. She crouched in front of them and spoke in firm tones. Jasper supposed she would let them go when she finished taking their statements.
“Are you ready?” Glenn asked Jasper.
She nodded.
He led the way, directing his flashlight along the floor like a theater usher. Clutter lined the uneven path. Jasper had forgotten what piles of stuff this house contained. Ray Clippert was one major hoarder. The dust kept her sneezing. She wiped her nose on the sleeve. She’d have to wash Kelly’s sweater before she returned it. Jasper tripped over a toppled stack of old magazines. She righted herself by holding on to Glenn’s shoulder. She hoped he wouldn’t take it personally.
“There’s a lot to get hurt on in here, isn’t there?” Suddenly tired, she felt it could take all night to traverse the distance to her stepfather’s body. She stuck close to the detective until they reached the basement door in the kitchen.
He ducked and descended onto the landing. “Take your time.” He thunked the overhead beam with his palm so its location became apparent. “Watch your head now.” Jasper moved forward and he placed a hand atop her hair, as if she were a suspect being helped into the back of a squad car.
When she crossed that first threshold, she held her breath. She expected the stench of death, like the rotting sweet stench of a drawerful of mice, but when she breathed again, it was only the old tired smell of dust and mold that the whole house held plus an overlay of urine. Glenn said, “Put your hand on my belt and follow me nice and slow.” She did as she was told and inched her way down the steep stairs, illuminated by the detective’s flashlight. At the bottom she looked around warily, thinking maybe she wouldn’t even be able to recognize Jimmy in the gloomy light. But she saw him lying there on the ground and was surprised that even before she focused on his features, she would have known his slightly chubby shape, the length of his legs, his overall shortness, anywhere. His height, breadth, width. His very Jimminess.
She moved in closer. The clutter in here had been moved out toward the walls, piles of National Geographics, the bowling ball that had rolled downstairs when she and Jimmy had first viewed the basement, a broken pseudo Chippendale chair with only two legs, and lots of unrecognizable debris. Jimmy lay in a circle cleared of junk, like a fallen gladiator at the bottom of the amphitheater. Dizziness compelled her to sit on the cold floor. She eased herself to her knees and crawled over to Jimmy. She inhaled a hint of sweat and the strong aroma of some cologne she didn’t recognize. He was always helping himself to cologne found in auction clients’ houses. Jimmy had several bad habits. Jasper and her sister had long suspected that the perfumes he gave them birthday after birthday probably came out of housefuls of stuff destined for the auction. “Is it okay if I touch him?”
Glenn nodded. “Of course. Take your time.”
Having asked, Jasper suddenly felt awkward. Jimmy had never been much of a hugger. She touched his face. Cold. She drew her hand back, then reached forward and stroked his thinning hair. She patted him on the shoulder. “What was he doing here alone?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Up close, Jasper could smell the flowery dryer sheets Jimmy was so fond of adding to his laundry. The rough-and-tumble auctioneer had always been a stickler for personal cleanliness. He wore his favorite watch, a Tag Heuer he’d gotten for a song at the auction. He had left a proxy bid, then did the bid-calling himself so he could control how the sale went. “What were you doing here, Jimmy?” she asked the dead man. A chill crept up her spine. Maybe Jimmy hadn’t been alone when he died. She turned to Glenn. “Did you check his pockets?
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Was anything there?” Jasper asked in a small voice.
“This was on the floor near him,” Glenn said. He handed her a Biggs Auction House key fob, one of the freebies they kept on the counter at work. He crouched down next to her. He pulled a wad of something from his own pocket and passed it over. He shone his flashlight on it. Jasper’s hands shook. It was a roll of bills that relaxed open to reveal Ben Franklin’s tight-lipped smile. Jasper spread them apart. Four hundred dollars plus a George Washington.
“Looks like you’ve been dealt a little gift hand there,” Glenn said.
“Cookie and I get to keep this?”
Glenn shrugged. “Later. You are his closest relatives. But why $401?”
Jasper smiled. She felt better knowing that he hadn’t died at the hands of a robber. “It was just one of those Jimmy things. For luck, I guess. Or maybe just out of habit. When we were girls, he used to take us out for ice cream sometimes. He made us splurge on triple-decker cones even if we weren’t hungry. I always got butter brickle. I think he liked to impress the people at Moo’nGoo when he whipped out a hundred doll bill.”
Glenn listened patiently.
“Sometimes though he’d just pull out the extra $20 he always kept in his wallet. Oh my gosh, where’s his wallet?”
“Easy now, easy. It’s right here.” Glenn handed over Jimmy’s worn leather wallet.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Jasper said. She opened it and ran her fingers over the plastic covered driver’s license, foggy in the near dark of the light from Glenn’s flashlight. Jasper slipped her fingers under the license. Nothing.
“I didn’t find a $20 anywhere in there either,” Glenn said.
“Funny,” Jasper said. “It was his emergency plan. He always told us we should tuck $20 away for emergencies. That’s kind of odd.” She looked to Glenn for confirmation.
“True that,” he said. “It is odd.” He opened his palm to her. “I found this too.”
The flashlight revealed a small silver figurine with some kind of sparkly stone in the center. Jasper brought her face in close. “It’s from a necklace, I guess. What is that – a crab or a lobster?”
“So it’s not familiar to you? “
Jasper shook her head. “Where did you find it?”
“Next to him on the floor.”
“Oh-h-h. Were you cherry-picking, Jimmy?” she whispered.
Glenn asked, “Cherry picking?”
“Sorry. That’s auction speak for picking out the most valuable items ahead of time. Before the regular auction crew comes over for the pickup.”
“To protect the good stuff, so to speak.”
“Uh-huh. So to speak.” She got slowly to her feet. Glenn held out his ringless left hand to help her up. “That’s okay, detective. I can manage on my own.”
“Jasper,” Glenn said.
“Now that we know that he fell in the line of duty, more or less, I guess we should get back upstairs to the others,” Jasper said. She stumbled forward. Glenn caught her in his muscled arms. Jasper began to cry, and Glenn drew her in closely.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” he said. “I’m really sorry. But it’ll be okay.”
It felt good to rest for a moment in Glenn’s protective hold, but the rest of her life was waiting for her and she had to get on with it. If only Glenn wasn’t married and she had moved ahead with her own divorce. Jasper forced herself to return to the present moment. She eased away from Glenn who released her without question. “Let’s go,” she said to him.
“It’s your world,” he said. He kissed her palm gently, then guided her to the stairs.
Upstairs in the living room, the Austrings were standing talking in hushed tones with Officer Sheila. She closed her notepad. “Detective,” she said to Glenn, “I have their statements and I know how to get in touch with them.”
“Fine. You’re free to go,” Glenn said to the couple.
“Sorry for your loss,” they mumbled to Jasper as they brushed by her on their way to the door.
“Dedicated guy – your stepfather," Kiefer said.
"He lov
ed his work," Jasper said.
A woman’s voice bellowed out from the front porch. She sounded demanding, belligerent. Jasper recognized that voice. Mary Clippert, trying to barge in. Officer Sheila hurried over. “Well, why the doubly-do not?” Mary Clippert’s voice sounded, louder and angrier.
“What am I going to do without you, Daddy?” Jasper whispered. She went to the porch. “I’ll handle this.” She steeled herself
Mary Clippert barreled past her into the house.
“Jasper Biggs!” Mary was nearly panting. She grabbed Jasper’s hands.
Jasper drew back from the damp heat.
Mary asked, “Is it true?”
The police officers moved in closer. Whether or not this crazy woman would be allowed to stay a second longer was up to Jasper who felt suddenly transformed into some kind of gate keeper.
“It’s all right. It’s all right.” Jasper said to Mary. She turned to the police. “This lady is an auction client.”
“You tell them. That’s right. This is my house. My father’s house.”
So many auction clients were big babies, Jasper thought. This brought to mind Pastor Tim. Well, of course it wasn’t just auction clients.
“You poor thing!” Mary Clippert was going on. “Tell me what happened. I must know!”
“I’ll be okay,” Jasper said. “Oh, my sister!” She dug her cell phone out of her pocket. Her hands shook and she stared at the phone as if it were a moon rock.
Mary reached for the cell phone. “I can help!”
Glenn held up the pendant.
Mary grabbed for it. “Wherever did you find it?” she asked with obvious excitement.
Glenn held it out of her reach. He gestured her to a place on the sofa. He eased the phone from Jasper’s hand and spoke to her in a slow, reassuring way. “I expect she’s in your favorites. Cookie with a C or a K?”
“C. Just plain Cookie, she always says. Doesn’t she?” Jasper looked inquiringly into Glenn’s face.
He said, “You better sit down.” He gestured with his head toward Mary who shoved over begrudgingly to make a narrow sit-down spot for Jasper
The Case of the Angry Auctioneer (Auction House Mystery Series Book 1) Page 9