by Dana Mentink
“Yes.”
“The one that’s married to the chief’s brother?”
She kept her expression bland. “Not anymore.”
He stroked his beard. “And you’re defending the other wife, Juliette Carpenter, I hear. Murder’s a pretty big charge.”
She steeled her spine. “She’s not guilty.”
To her surprise, he smiled. “Don’t matter to me. If she did clobber Kevin, she had her reasons, and he probably deserved it.”
“You didn’t like Kevin?”
He shrugged. “I saw him around town. Too full of himself, if you ask me, roaring up and down on that motorcycle. I didn’t like his pa, either. Same chip on his shoulder, like he was too good for Sprocket or something. Cleared out when he earned enough off of the locals.”
Trinidad wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she thanked him and left. She trudged past booths filled with a hodgepodge of items from tennis rackets to tie tacks, rolling pins, garden rakes, and a plastic Christmas tree decorated entirely with flamingos. Sadly, there were no coolers to be found. There were only a few patrons, for which she was grateful. The man, identified as Donald by his name tag, had a full head of fair hair and a beak of a nose underscored by a scraggly mustache. He peered through his reading glasses at something held out to him by Candy Simon.
Candy jerked in surprise. “Hello, Trinidad.”
“Hi.”
“Come to find a bargain?” Donald asked, handing back the pocket watch to Candy. She quickly secreted it in her purse. Trinidad had a fleeting thought. Could it be Candy was trying to sell something she’d found at Lupin’s home?
“No, well, um, maybe. I was just wondering if all of Lupin’s belongings from the auctioned unit were sold.”
Candy’s eyebrows formed a puzzled v. “Why would you want to know that? Are you trying to figure out if there is something valuable that got sent here mistakenly?”
Trinidad kept her expression blank. “I’m trying my best to help Juliette. It could be someone killed Kevin because he’d bought something at the flea market maybe, something left over from Mr. Lupin’s belongings.”
Candy laughed. “Not likely. I helped Sonny go through that stuff myself. No one was allowed to join in, so we had plenty of time to examine everything in peace. Then we packed it into the truck and sent it over here. If there was anything worth a bundle, we would have found it.”
“I didn’t realize you two were close friends.”
Candy flushed. “We do favors for each other when we can. That’s how life in a small town works.”
“That table there is what you’re after,” Donald said pointing. “Feel free to peruse.”
He returned to his conversation with Candy. Trinidad strolled along noting some dusty fake plants, a framed mirror, a half dozen cracked dinner plates, a box of old stamps, and three plastic umbrellas. Junk, just like he’d said. Perhaps whomever had killed Kevin had taken the item from whatever he’d bought at the flea market. But what could be worth so much? A swell of doubt dampened her enthusiasm. What was she playing at, anyway? It was a long way from court stenographer to detective. Sitting in a courtroom did not make her a sleuth any more than owning a toothbrush made her a dentist.
The adjacent table was piled high with objects, and scooted underneath were cardboard boxes. Familiar blue tape stuck to the side caught her attention.
“Are these also from Store Some More?” she asked Donald.
Candy jerked her head at Trinidad.
“Yeah,” Donald said. “They belonged to Lupin, too.”
She noticed Candy twitch a bit at the name.
Donald nodded. “That’s more leftovers from what Sonny didn’t want from the storage unit.”
Candy sniffed. “It’s all aboveboard, you know.”
“Of course.” Trinidad noticed a sheen of perspiration on her upper lip. The boxes were stuffed with piles of magazines, rusty tools, and old rotary telephones. Again, nothing of note that she could tell. “So the things you’ve cleaned out of his house wound up here, too, in addition to the unwanted storage unit things.”
Candy nodded. “Except anything of value from the house. We shipped all those things to his family.”
Things of value…like the pocket watch she’d so quickly concealed from view? Trinidad had heard enough lawyer talk about body language to know a “tell” when she saw one, the sudden look away, the pursing of Candy’s lips. She knew more than she wanted to reveal.
“Really a shame about Kevin,” Donald said. “I mean, I just saw the guy here at the market on Tuesday. He bought a box of junk.”
“What junk?” Candy and Trinidad said in unison.
Donald looked at his receipt book and frowned. “Same question Chief Bigley asked me. I dunno. I wrote down ‘miscellaneous.’ Can’t remember what exactly.”
“Did he seem upset about anything?” Trinidad asked.
“Nah. He was a happy-go-lucky guy, happier than usual, even.”
“Do you recall anything he said to you?”
“He just whistled a lot and said he was excited about the July Fourth festivities.”
“Nothing else?”
Trinidad noticed Candy was nibbling on her painted thumb nail as she listened.
“Not that I can remember.”
Trinidad thought about the few moments before she’d discovered Kevin’s body. She’d had the strangest notion that there had been someone in the storage area behind his store. The killer? Searching for something Kevin purchased at the flea market? Something that once belonged to Lupin, that was mistakenly labeled as junk? It had to be.
Candy straightened. “While we’re face-to-face, I’m hoping to get forty people to the open house. I’ve put the info out as many ways as I can think of. Two or three flavor choices for the ice cream ought to do it. Small scoops. Cones or cups, your choice. From noon to three. You can come as early as you want to set up, okay?” She did not wait for Trinidad’s reply as she strode away.
Donald shook his head. “That lady doesn’t miss a trick, does she?”
“Have you known her long?”
“She moved to town about five years ago after her fancy-pants realty office in California dried up.” He leaned forward. “She likes to play the business mogul, but she’s got plenty of debts, just like the rest of us.” He lowered his voice. “Virginia at the pizza joint told me her car is leased and heard her fussing on the phone with someone about a missed payment. No secrets in this town,” he said.
Trinidad felt more like the opposite was true.
Everyone in Upper Sprocket had a secret.
Chapter Ten
She’d just turned a new batch of key lime into the mixer when Quinn rapped on the door. Heart ticking up a notch, she opened it, wishing her hair was not secured in an unattractive pile by her favorite decades-old hair band. Maybe she should look into getting a haircut, if she could find someone in town who was skilled in styling boisterous curls.
“There’s a call for you at Stan’s.”
“At Stan’s? Why?”
“Tell you on the way, okay?”
She slipped off her apron and they hustled out. Doug walked with Noodles, and all four of them made their way to the coffee shop. “It’s Juliette,” Quinn explained. “She can only call collect from jail, so she couldn’t ring your cell phone. She’s desperate to tell us something.”
Trinidad’s breath hitched. Stan waved them all to the back office, a cramped but impeccably neat space with an old-fashioned rolltop desk sporting a new-fashioned computer. Stan picked up the receiver from a wall phone that looked like it had been there since the second world war.
“All right, Juliette. You’ve got all of us now. I’ll hold out the receiver, so speak up as loudly as you can.”
“I only have a few minutes,” Juliette said, voice tense, “but I ha
d to tell you.”
“What is it?” Trinidad found herself leaning closer.
“You were asking me about Lupin’s storage unit.”
She tensed. “Yes. Did you remember something about what you saw in it? Something that might have been valuable?”
“Not a thing.”
Trinidad’s heart sank.
“But I remembered that I took pictures.”
Quinn’s face lit up, mirroring the elation Trinidad felt. “You did?” he said.
“Yes. When I took over the business, I inherited a bunch of those small disposable cameras. Do you remember those? The kind people used to put out at weddings and such? Someone kept boxes of them, and I guess Gabe’s manager took possession of the unit for nonpayment, because there was a whole shelf of them in the office. Dozens. I figured I might as well use them up. Since we were foreclosing on Lupin’s unit, it seemed prudent to document the contents in case there were some questions later from the family.”
“So, you took pictures?” Trinidad squeaked.
“I took pictures.” Her tone was triumphant. “How about that?”
“Where are they, Juliette?” Stan asked. “There was no police record of them in your office or from the contents confiscated from your home.”
“That’s the best part. They aren’t in either of those places. I forgot to pick them up. I had to take them to a shop in Scotch Corners to get them developed, and it just flat-out slipped my mind. They’re probably still there waiting at a place called Be Well. It’s a drug store with a photo kiosk in the back. They still develop old film rolls.”
Trinidad and Quinn got to their feet at the same moment.
“I have to go now,” Juliette said. “I hope it helps.” She disconnected.
Stan held up a cautioning palm. “We will have to share these photos with the police.”
“But not until we take a good look at them first,” Trinidad said firmly. “Due diligence, right?”
Stan crooked a smile at her. “My thoughts precisely.”
Trinidad did a quick search on her phone. “The place closes at five on Sundays.”
Quinn checked his watch. “It’s already close to three. We’d better get moving. Can we take your Pinto? I think we exceed the maximum occupancy for my truck.”
Did she have the time for a road trip with the open house looming the next day? She took a calming breath. “Sure. We’ll go right now.”
“Phone me the moment you get them,” Stan called as they threaded through the patrons and left the shop.
Trinidad and Quinn sat in the front seat with Doug and Noodles in the back. Quinn patted the cigarette packet in his pocket before he searched for directions on his phone.
“It’s about a forty-five-minute drive, so we’ll be there way before quitting time,” he reassured her.
Trinidad realized she was gripping the wheel. “This might be the clue we’ve been looking for. How can you be so calm?”
He chuckled. “I’ve learned the hard way. I was coiled pretty tight after I got out of the Army and came back here.”
“Was it hard slipping back into country life?”
“Yes, for both me and Doug. I found out, the more agitated I got, the more he did, too. It didn’t solve any problems, and it made things more difficult between us. Things are much better now. Doug’s been good for me.”
Doug nodded from the back seat.
Trinidad smiled. “That’s what family’s for, right?”
“Are you close with your brother?” Quinn asked.
“I adore Yolo, but he’s as opposite a personality from mine as possible. He’s a risk-taker, outgoing, always optimistic, and he can charm the scales off a snake. He is sometimes…unreliable, except when it comes to taking care of Mother and Papa Luis. He stepped up when my father died, so I’ll always be grateful for that since I was…um…kind of in a bad place at the time, after I found out about Gabe.”
Quinn nodded thoughtfully. “I get it. The heart can only handle so much at one time.”
She glanced at him. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you a smoker?”
He blinked. “Me? No, not for twelve years now. I was a couple-of-packs-a-day guy, but Doug kept getting these real bad chest colds. The doc finally got it through my head that my smoking was making things worse for him so I quit. One of the hardest things I ever did. I was a bear for a good six months.”
“If you quit, why do you carry a pack of cigarettes wherever you go?”
He laughed. “Oh, that. When I was trying to detox, I’d just grab tight to that package and squeeze it for dear life. I figured, if I could hold onto a pack without opening it and lighting up, I’d know I’d really kicked the habit.”
“And it worked?”
“Yep, but I carry around a pack as sort of an encouragement to myself, or a reminder. I’m not sure which.” He shot her a sideways glance. “I guess that sounds pretty odd, huh?”
“I—” She broke off as an RV with a MONUMENT VALLEY OR BUST bumper sticker came to a hard stop in front of her. She braked. “Why in the world is he stopping in the middle of the road?”
Quinn was already unbuckling. “I’ll go find out.”
She saw in the rearview mirror that Doug was checking his watch. She knew he was thinking the same thing she was… They had only a short while to get to the photo store before it closed.
Juliette was counting on them.
Hurry up, she silently begged the RV. This may be a matter of life and death.
Trinidad hopped out and caught up with Quinn. “Maybe it’s a deer in the road or something,” he said as they approached the stopped RV. “Do you need some help, sir?”
A very small man dislodged himself from the enormous vehicle. “Not me. That guy. Take a look.” He jerked his thumb towards the front of his bulky rig. They hastened to a familiar dented gray truck stopped in the road. She’d seen it before, parked at the gas station. Nearby, on its side, was an overturned wooden crate.
The cacophony was impressive…chickens, fluttering puffs of screeching white, leapt and darted every which way. Before she and Quinn could react, several more birds erupted from the gap in the crate left by a couple of planks that must have detached when it toppled.
Mr. Mavis, the gas station owner and bicycle enthusiast, stood with hands jammed into his pockets. “Oh, howdy, Quinn, Miss Jones. I’ve got myself into some trouble here.”
“So I see.” Quinn reached out to capture the closest chicken, which was beelining for the shrubs, and received a peck for his trouble.
“I was doing a favor for my cousin Larry,” Mavis said. “Seems like his chickens get mighty upset at the fireworks, and they stop laying, so I was taking them up to Aunt Lucy’s in Scotch Corners for him. I musta not secured the load properly. I think the rope snapped, and over she went.” Mavis sighed. “Chickens never cooperate.”
Trinidad could practically hear the clock ticking down until closing time at the Be Well shop, but there was no other choice. They were stuck on the road behind an RV and surrounded by fugitive chickens. Even if there had been a way out, she could not, in good conscience, leave Cousin Larry’s birds to their fate. Noodles barked to be let out of the Pinto. Trinidad had no idea how his herding instincts were, but Noodles was a dog of many talents, and she trusted him implicitly. She released him from the back seat.
Doug’s mouth was pinched in a tight line.
“We’ve got to retrieve some chickens, Doug. Do you want to help?”
She thought he looked frightened as he got out of the car. Noodles trotted eagerly into the fray and, to her surprise, Doug climbed up onto the roof of the Pinto. “There,” he said.
She followed his pointed finger in time to see a chicken hurtling down the road. Off she went in hot pursuit. After five minutes of s
crabbling through the clawing shrubs, she snatched at the bird but wound up only with a couple of feathers and a scratch on her wrist.
“You’re gonna turn out to be a coyote snack if you don’t cooperate,” she grumped, looking back at Doug who pointed again, standing on the car like a figurehead on the prow of a ship.
This time, she corralled the chicken and managed to subdue it under her arm. She arrived at the broken crate at the same time as Noodles, who carried a disgruntled bird in his mouth. He plopped it in the crate, which Quinn had gotten upright, and Trinidad followed suit with her captured fowl. Mavis slid the plank back in place to prevent further escape.
She patted Noodles. “How did you learn to do that, sweetie?”
Noodles wagged his tail.
“There,” Doug called from the crow’s nest, and Noodles snapped into action, darting under a shrub and emerging, tail wagging with another chicken in his mouth. Quinn helped secure that one in the crate. Trinidad’s spirits notched up. Maybe they really could still make it to the shop.
“That’s a mighty good dog,” Quinn said.
“Sure is,” Mavis agreed. “Cousin Larry has a malamute that brings ’em back in pieces. Efficient, but brutal.”
“And Doug’s doing great directing the troops from on top of my car,” Trinidad said.
Quinn smiled. “He doesn’t like birds because they move too unexpectedly, but he’s a good spotter.”
“The best.”
The short man from the RV hustled over with a chicken under his arm. “Nasty bugger pecked my elbow.”
Mavis nodded knowingly. “Cousin Larry’s chickens are tough. Thanks for the help.”
“So how many birds are still AWOL?” Quinn asked.
Mavis took a moment to count beaks in the crate. “That’s four in the crate, which leaves us with…” He did a quick mental calculation. “Eight left to find.”
Quinn and Trinidad groaned.
“Two more,” Doug hollered, pointing towards a golden tangle of dried grass.