“But just because he was suspicious of her doesn’t mean she’s a villain.”
“You’re right. But he interacted with Maria on a daily basis when they changed shifts and was definitely wary of her. My reaction to her touching my glass was toxic. I trust that interpretation.”
“Will you tell Detective Wilder about it?”
“She’s listened to me before.”
Richard wasn’t sure how to broach the next subject, but it needed to be said. “Our fledgling business may be DOA.”
“Why?”
“Brenda’s worried that both you and Dave were targeted. Dave’s dead. What if whoever took him out decides you’re still a threat?”
“That idea has occurred to me.”
“Yeah, well—we’ve got a baby to think about.”
“You know I’d never do anything to endanger CP.”
“I do. But you have no control over what other people are going to think about what you—we,” he corrected, “investigate. That’s why I want to concentrate on cold cases.”
“I get that. But I wasn’t poking around into anything when someone decided to pick me off my bike. Dave wasn’t actively doing anything out of the norm, either.”
“That you know of.”
Jeff’s answer was subdued. “Yeah. If my so-called accident and Dave’s murder are connected, and if there’s still a threat out there, what am I supposed to do? I can’t do nothing.”
“If you weren’t laid up—I might suggest a trip out of town for a couple of weeks.”
“And what would that accomplish in the long run? If I came back, I might still be a target; and if not me—you, Brenda, CP, and Maggie.”
“Maybe Detective Wilder will give us a different perspective.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” Jeff was quiet for a long few moments. “If Maria is behind all this, what could possibly be her motive? The Whole Nine Yards was never a huge success. Tom’s only been scraping by for the past decade. And it astounds me that not only does she get hired, but brings incredible prosperity to the bar in only days.”
“Research,” Richard said. “Before we can even bring up her name to Detective Wilder, we need to know a hell of a lot more about Maria.”
“Then maybe we should just go home.”
“I thought you wanted to see if something of Dave was left behind.”
“If he hasn’t moved on, he’ll still be around tomorrow.”
“I guess you’re right,” Richard said. “Okay, home we go. But we’re going back to security mode—like we did when Brenda was being stalked.”
“That’s totally appropriate. In fact, though they weren’t all that effective the last time you hired a guard, it wouldn’t hurt to go for that extra level of protection once again.”
“I’ll make the call as soon as we get home,” Richard said, taking the next right, which would take them back to Main Street.
“If we do end up opening a consulting firm, from time to time we might want to have a staff of hired protectors on call, depending on the situation.”
“I hadn’t given it any thought.”
“There are all kinds of ways we could build the business. We might want to expand in several different areas.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that. I wasn’t sure you had any real interest in this little endeavor.”
“I’m interested, but right now I’m more of a liability than an asset.”
“Are you kidding? Your experience as an investigator is our biggest asset.”
Jeff didn’t acknowledge the compliment. Instead, he stared straight ahead, his expression pensive.
Richard’s ringtone broke the quiet. He dug for the phone in his left pants pocket and tossed it to Jeff. “It’s Brenda.”
Jeff tapped the talk icon. “Brenda?”
He listened for a moment. “Wait, wait!” he said, then tapped the speaker feature. “Say again.”
“I’m sitting in the minivan in our driveway. The window to the door up to Jeffy’s apartment is broken.”
“Get out of there right now!” Richard hollered.
Brenda said no more, but they could hear the sound of tires spinning on the asphalt as she must have shoved the van back in gear and taken off.
Richard clutched the Mercedes’ steering wheel as they waited for Brenda to come back on the phone. “What do you think?”
“I think Brenda and CP need to take a nice trip to Philly to visit her sister, Evelyn, until we can figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Richard?”
“Brenda, where are you?”
“Parked around the corner and two blocks down from the house. What should I do?”
“Hold tight. We’re almost there,” Jeff said.
“Call nine-one-one and tell them what you saw. Ask if you can speak to Detective Wilder, and if you can—tell her about Dave,” Richard said.
“Okay.” She sounded remarkably calm.
“Don’t get out of the car. And keep it locked.”
“Will do.” The connection was severed.
Richard risked a glance at his brother. “Now what?”
“I’m sorry, Rich. I don’t know what to say about this whole shitty mess.”
“Neither do I.”
“What the hell could Dave and I have done to make someone hate us this much?”
Richard’s fingers held the steering wheel so tight, they were white. “I have no idea. But we’re sure as hell going to find out.”
18
The back of the minivan was packed nearly to the ceiling when we finally pulled out of Richard’s driveway. Richard had personally called Evelyn to ask if Brenda and CP could stay with her indefinitely—there was no way he was risking either of their lives for a situation we didn’t understand. And so each of us packed a bag or two, Brenda collected Herschel and put him in his carrier, packed his litter box, food, and our computers, and we all headed for the airport.
Once Brenda and CP were dispatched (with six bags, the baby’s car seat, and carry on), Richard and I headed downtown for one of the best suites the Hyatt Regency had to offer. His top criteria was valet parking, so that theoretically, no one would mess with the van. Since Brenda had only picked up the car earlier in the afternoon, there was a good possibility Maria—or whoever else was menacing us—wouldn’t know what we were now using as transportation. That would change. We might end up renting a car in a day or two … if we couldn’t figure out what was going on before then.
Richard and I both spoke with Detective Wilder on the phone. She agreed we were being prudent to take such precautions, but also reminded us that a broken window and then jimmied door to my apartment didn’t mean I was being stalked. Since I didn’t crawl up the steps to check it out, I had to take Richard’s word that nothing had been messed with.
Between the two of us, we managed to arrange for Brenda’s and CP’s flight, book the hotel, call in a locksmith, get the window fixed, pack, and arrange for a twenty-four hour guard on the house all within a four-hour window. I felt half dead by then, having had no time to rest during the day. Once at the hotel, Richard bummed a wheelchair and had a bell cap take me up to the suite, along with another to bring up Herschel, his supplies, and the rest of our baggage.
It was nearly eight by the time all but Herschel and our computers had been moved into the bedrooms and the bell caps left with hefty tips, leaving Richard and me to stare at each other.
“Now what?” I asked from the club chair where I’d been deposited.
“First things first.”
“That would be setting up Herschel’s litter box and getting him some water. He’s been in that carrier for almost two hours.”
Richard grimaced.
“I’m sorry about this, Rich. Maybe you should have just booked us adjoining rooms.”
“No, the suite will work better.” He glared at the carrier, where Herschel was pawing at the metal grate that separated him from freedom. “I don’t like this situation,
but I’m not going to let a ten-pound cat get the better of me.”
“Seven pounds,” I clarified. “At least that’s what he weighed the last time I took him to the vet.” Herschel’s carrier was six feet from me on the floor. No way was I going to be able to maneuver close enough to let him out—not with a cast and crutches. Damn, we’d forgotten to pack the gripper Maggie had given me. I looked around the room. “Maybe we can rent a wheelchair for the time we’re here? The doorways are wide enough—and it could make it a lot easier for me to navigate. Plus, it would give my poor bruised armpits a rest.”
“We’ll add that to the list of things to do.” Richard got up from his chair, walked over to the carrier, and stood before it, glaring at my cat for long seconds. “I don’t like you.”
“Brah!” Herschel replied, as though to say, “Same to you, buddy!”
Richard bent down and opened the carrier’s door. A wary Herschel took his time before stepping out of it. He looked around, as though getting his bearings, and then slowly walked around the perimeter of the room.
“He’s mapping the area,” I said.
“What?”
“Memorizing the room—rooms,” I amended. “It’s what cats do. He’ll have this place figured out in no time. If you’ll hand me that bag, I’ll take out a bowl and can of food and get it ready for his dinner.”
“Why should he eat before us?” Richard asked.
“Herschel doesn’t have fingers to pull the tab on a can. Besides, we can call room service.”
A reluctant Richard complied. He’d shut the door to his bed and bath rooms, and with my instructions, set up the litter box, water, and food bowls for my cat in my bathroom. Once that was done, he sat down with the room service menu.
“I did a lot of travel in my old job and used room service a lot. I found it best to order sandwiches, since anything else usually came up stone cold,” I told him.
“We’re got a microwave and a fridge.”
“What happened to my sandwich from lunch?”
“It sat in the car for hours and got tossed.”
“If that menu has a ham and Swiss club sandwich, I’ll take it on rye.”
Richard studied the entrées on offer. “Sorry, ciabatta roll only.”
“So be it.”
“I’ve had a few good room service meals over the years. I’ll risk getting the strip steak. I’ll call it in, and we can set up the computers while we wait.”
“Good idea.” Of course we weren’t going to do the grunt work in that regard. Richard was twelve years older than me, but he was better able to crawl around the floor and get the strip plugs going and fire up my crappy printer.
Half an hour later, we were both connected to the Internet, which was what we were going to need if we were to do some cyber snooping. A knock at the door let us know that our dinners had arrived. The bell cap who’d wheeled me up less than an hour before pushed the linen-clad cart inside, and Richard rewarded him with yet another generous tip.
Richard pushed his chair closer to mine and set our meals on the coffee table. He’d ordered a couple of beers, although I knew he’d also packed the kitchen booze to bring along. He picked up his silverware. “This wasn’t how I pictured my last meal of the day.”
“Me, either.” I picked up a potato chip from my plate and crunched it. “Brenda should be getting into Philly in about an hour.”
“She wasn’t happy about leaving us.”
“I got that feeling.”
“I’m pretty sure she never got a chance to call Maggie.”
“Yeah. I guess I should do that right after we eat—but I’m going to have to crash pretty damn quick. I’ve never felt so tired—or hungry—in my life.” The latter was a lie, but it sounded appropriate.
Richard opened the little plastic container of sour cream and slathered it on his baked potato. “We need to figure out a plan of attack—or at least where we want to direct our inquiries.”
I picked up one of my sandwich quarters. “Should I call Sam Nielsen—” a friend who worked as a reporter at the Buffalo News, “—and have him look into Maria’s background, or would your friends in California have a better shot at it?”
“I have confidence you and I can look into this. This is our test case—to see if we have what it takes to solve—”
“Crimes?” I offered.
“Cases,” Richard corrected.
“We still need to figure out why Alice Newcomb came to my attention.”
“Then perhaps that should be where you concentrate your efforts.”
“Why?”
“Is there a chance she and Maria are somehow connected?”
“Alice died at least fifty years before Maria was born, so I don’t see how that can be.”
“And you won’t—unless you look,” Richard observed. “Don’t you think it’s odd that these two problems surfaced so close together?”
He had a point, but a big part of me didn’t want to believe they were connected, although I have no idea why. I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed before swallowing. I was so friggin’ tired, I wasn’t sure I could even finish that one triangle of sandwich before I would need to fall into bed and give in to the exhaustion that pulled at every muscle in my body and in my mind.
I took another bite of my sandwich, chewing slower and slower. I had to take a slug of my beer before I could even swallow it. I put the rest of it back on my plate and sat back.
“You looked wiped,” Richard said, set his fork, aside and stood. “Let’s get you to bed and then I’ll call Maggie and smooth things over.”
“No; eat your dinner.”
He reached for my crutches, handing them to me. “No way. I know from experience that if you fall asleep where you are, I’ll never be able to get you up. I can nuke the rest of my dinner once you’re in for the night.”
“Thanks.”
The evening’s ablutions were abandoned. I hit the john, pulled off my sweatpants, and hit the sack. I’m pretty sure I was asleep before Richard even turned off the light.
* * *
I awoke at the crack of dawn—literally. It was five thirty-six and Herschel was wedged next to my chest. I’d slept straight through. I hated to disturb the little guy, but nature’s call was pretty urgent. It took me a full minute to remember where the hell I was and why. Thankfully, Richard had left my crutches within easy reach. Five minutes later, I entered the suite’s living room, surprised to find Richard already dressed and seated at the desk, his laptop’s screen flashing.
“You’re up early,” I said, startling him.
“Room service should be here any minute now. I ordered a bunch of stuff. We’ll have more than enough to start the day.”
“Thanks.” First things first. “Did you talk to Brenda last night?”
“It was after eleven when she called. She was happy to see her family. Apparently a whole mob showed up to greet her at the airport—but she wants us to wrap this up ASAP so she can come home.”
“I can’t blame her.”
“I spoke to Maggie, too. She felt terrible when I told her about Dave. She’d like you to call her sometime today.”
“Can do. Did you tell her our situation?”
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“That you’ll need to explain why she can’t visit you for the foreseeable future, and why Brenda and Betsy went to Philadelphia.”
“Not a problem. But damn, now I really feel like I’m abandoning her. And if she’s sold her house, now even Brenda can’t help her find something else fast.”
“Perhaps one of her sisters can do that.”
“Irene is a bitch who’ll only find fault with everything she does and denigrate me. Sandy’s a militant soccer mom. I doubt she’d be willing to carve out a second to help Maggie. Whatever you do—please don’t become a friggin’ helicopter parent. I’d hate to see every second of CP’s life scheduled so she never has a moment to actually be a kid. God knows
neither of us had a decent childhood; let’s make sure she does.”
“Brenda and I are in complete agreement on that account.”
I nodded toward his computer. “What are you working on?”
“I’ve signed up for every service I could Google that can connect us to public information, as well as a few genealogy sites.”
“Which makes me glad I’ve been actively working to hide my Internet presence.”
“I could probably hack into any database I please, but I’d prefer to use public sites as much as possible.”
“I’m still astounded that you would even consider hacking in any way, shape, or form.”
“As I’ve told you, I don’t have a problem if it’s done in the name of justice.”
“It sounds like you think of yourself as a superhero.”
Richard shook his head. “Most likely, anything we uncover would never have to be taken to court.”
“You’re thinking ahead—to a time when we concentrate on cold cases—not about our current situation. If Maria Spodina is behind my accident and Dave’s murder, I want whatever we uncover to stick.”
“I’m keeping that in mind.”
A knock sounded at the door. Richard got up, walked across the room, and checked the peep hole before he opened it.
“Your breakfast, sir,” the bell cap said.
Richard stood back to let him in. Once the cart had been pushed into the room and near me, the bell cap turned to face Richard. “Will you need anything else, sir?”
Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, peeling off a ten and handing it to the bell cap.
“Thank you, sir.”
Richard followed the guy to the door, then closed and locked it behind him. He moved to stand before the cart, poured coffee for both of us, handing me mine, and then plunked a croissant and a Danish each on two plates, again, handing me mine.
“Thanks. I’ve decided to be paranoid,” I said, and took my first sip of coffee.
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