by Dana Mentink
She backed up a step. “Not a thing. As far as I know, there isn’t any.”
He leaned in, bending closer. “I don’t care what any form says. Remember, if you find anything in Lupin’s stuff, it belongs to me.”
Not in the eyes of the law, she thought.
She scooted around him. “I’ll remember that.”
He watched as she climbed into the Pinto and locked the doors. He got into his truck and drove away. She tried to quiet her thundering heartbeat. It wasn’t exactly a threat, was it? Certainly, he’d meant to intimidate her and had succeeded. There was no way she was going to do any more skulking around by herself. Swallowing hard, she started to switch on the ignition when she saw Donald behind the chain-link fence, sauntering across the tarmac. He clutched a paper grocery bag and sipped from a can of grape soda. She got back out of the car.
“Donald,” she called.
He jerked towards her and smiled, approaching the gate. “You scared me, Miss Jones.”
“Call me Trinidad, please. I need to ask you a question.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“Did Edward Lupin have any VHS tapes that wound up for sale at the flea market?”
“Tapes?” He glugged his soda and considered. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, he did. There were some sent over by Candy from his house, I think. The twins bought his old video camera to horse around with, but they didn’t want any of the tapes. Neither did anyone else, as far as I can remember. Most folks have switched over to streaming services and DVDs and whatnot. Old VHS tapes are going the way of the woolly mammoth. Think I still got ’em in the back.”
She kept her tone calm. “Would you mind if I bought them? My grandpa is visiting, and we have this old VHS player in the unit I’m renting. Hard to find tapes to go in it, these days.” It was mostly true. Her grandfather had been known to sit through hours’ worth of skippy, VHS John Wayne movies that took up an entire shelf in their Miami home.
“I’m supposed to be closed, but I guess I could ring you up real quick.” He unlocked the gate and opened it enough for her to pass through. She shot a glance through the chain link, into the glare of the sun edging behind the mountains. Was Sonny still out there? Watching? Quickly, she slid inside. As long as she was with Donald, she didn’t have to worry. She missed Noodles’s comforting presence.
Donald led her to his booth, covered with blue tarp. Pushing it aside, he rummaged around until he came up with a paper bag. “Here it is.”
She peered inside. There were a dozen or so video tapes. Some were commercially made covering historical topics, “China Through the Ages and Colonial Woodworking.” Several were labeled only “one” and “two.” There was another with a pink stripe running down the label in permanent marker.
Donald grimaced. “Think your grandpa would be interested in any of those?”
“You never know,” she said. “How much for all of them?”
“Fifty cents each, cash only. Six bucks.”
She patted her pockets and came up with only four dollars and twenty-five cents. “Do you like mangoes? I could throw in two.” She withdrew them from her pockets.
He laughed. “All right. Two mangoes and add a free ice cream when you open your shop and we’ll call it done.”
She handed over the fruit. “Come in anytime. We open Thursday.” It gave her a thrill to say it.
He pocketed the money, but seemed to be making no moves to leave. He sipped his soda.
She shifted the bag in her arms. “Um, I am sorry to ask, but would you mind walking me to my car?”
He stopped drinking his soda and looked at her. “Well, sure, but why? Are you thinking someone is going to mug you for your VHS tapes?” he teased.
“You just never know, do you?”
His smile waned as he considered. Perhaps he, too, was pondering the recent murder and break-in at the theater. Not to mention the attack on Quinn.
“No,” he said, downing the rest of his soda. “I guess you don’t.”
Trinidad couldn’t believe she’d actually gotten her hands on the video tapes. Still, she reminded herself as she drove, they might be nothing at all, a bunch of hooey like her brilliant candy machine theory. Nerves prickling, she kept checking her rearview mirror for any signs that Sonny had followed her. Once, she thought she saw a flicker of movement on the shadowy road behind her, but no one materialized. Still, she kept the doors locked and her foot hard on the gas. Papa’s Bel Air was not in the driveway when she arrived, so she practically sprinted up the steps with her bag of tapes and pizza and into the tiny house, bolting the front door behind her.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the wall mirror, hair flying everywhere, face blotched, jaw tight. Paranoia does not suit you. It would be another twenty minutes until Quinn, Doug, and Stan were set to arrive. She put aside the history tapes for the moment and selected number one of the hand-labeled cassettes. Feeding it into the VCR, she sat on the kitchen chair and waited. The video was grainy, taken at some sort of outdoor area crowded with picnic tables full of merchandise. Perhaps a swap meet or another flea market? Lupin was not a skilled videographer, and there was a moment of him peering into the lens of his camera, another of his boots, and several of the grass and sky before he focused in on the items on the table. Old games, pottery, a statue of a rider on horseback. It seemed he was struggling with the focus when a rotund man stepped into the field of view. There was no sound to accompany the video, but the man appeared to be waving Lupin off.
She read his lips clearly. “No taping.” Then there was more conversation from the peeved looking man until the film went dark. She continued perusing the tape all the way to the end, but there was nothing else. Had the footage contained anything significant? She had no idea.
The second tape looked a bit battered. Trinidad was not at all sure it was playable, so she skipped to the one with the pink magic marker stripe. Just as she reached to slide it into the VCR, the front door rattled. She froze, clutching the tape in a death grip. Quinn would have knocked. Maybe it was Papa Luis, but she’d given him a key. Might he have forgotten it?
She’d made up her mind to creep to the kitchen and peek out from behind the curtain when the rattling stopped. She stood there, muscles rigid, holding onto the tape with fingers gone ice cold. Perhaps it had been Papa and, next, she would hear the key inserted in the lock. But it was silent, so silent she could hear the drip of the kitchen faucet.
“You’re okay,” she told herself. “Whoever it was can’t get in. You’re safe…” The thought died before it fully formed as she recalled she’d left the sliding door open a bit for Noodles. She’d turned and lurched towards the door just when she heard it roll open.
Panic swamped her. Sweat erupted on her forehead. Was it Sonny come to threaten her further? Should she run out the front door? But the intruder would hear and catch her before she could make it to the Pinto.
Feet slipping in her haste, she ran to the bathroom, slammed the door and locked it. Her panting was so frantic she was sure it could be heard clearly. Didn’t matter, anyway. In such a tiny house, there was only one place she could be hiding. She dropped the tape with a clatter and fumbled for her cell. The phone shook badly as she dialed 911.
The bathroom knob rattled. She screamed. “I called the police. Get out of my house.”
There was a mighty kick on the door that shuddered the whole panel. This time she clapped her hand over her mouth, the scream locked deep down. Her ears rang with the sound of her pounding blood. The door was flimsy, the lock even more so. She was trapped.
The terror tapped into something she had not expected. Sudden rage percolated through every pore. No one had the right to scare her in her tiny house. No one had the right to reduce her to helplessness.
And then she was screaming and hollering in a volume she hadn’t known she could achieve.
“You will not hurt me, whoever you are. If you get through this door, I will kick and scream and bite and karate chop until there is nothing left of you but a pile of parts. You got me, buster?” She finished it off with a kick on the door from the inside, just to show him she meant business.
Heart pounding, she listened. Nothing but a faraway noise. She did not at first recognize the sound of the siren wailing.
The police.
There was the thump of booted feet trampling into her kitchen and to the bathroom.
“Police,” a voice shouted. “Miss Jones, it’s Officer Chang. Are you okay?”
She flung the door open and tumbled out so fast she almost knocked off the officer’s glasses. She flung her arms around him. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Er, yes ma’am.” Chang helped her into a chair.
Bigley ran in through the back door. “Gone. Saw someone just vanishing into the trees. Too far away to make an ID. Might have been carrying something. Looked like he or she was wearing gloves and a ski mask. No sign of a vehicle.”
Trinidad struggled to get air in and out. She was okay. She had defended herself enough to survive. “It might have been Sonny. He…he scared me at the flea market.” She panted out the story.
Bigley frowned. “We’ll check that out.”
“I want to see her,” Quinn’s voice carried from outside. “Is she hurt? What happened?”
“Let him in,” Bigley said. When Quinn charged through the front door, she pointed to the chair next to Trinidad. “Sit there until we see if we can get prints. Stay out of the way.”
Quinn sat with a thud and grabbed Trinidad’s hands. She took comfort in his calloused touch, his fingernails stained from hard work and nut oils.
“Are you okay?” he said. “We got here just as the cops rolled up. Your skin is like ice.” He chafed her hands between both of his.
“I’m okay,” she said through chattering teeth. “S…someone broke in, but I locked myself in the bathroom. The…intruder kicked at the door, but it held.” The words did not seem real to her own ears. “The tapes…” she cried suddenly. It was no surprise to find the bag gone.
She reported it immediately to the chief. Bigley nodded and went back to her radio. Officer Chang trotted to his car to retrieve a fingerprint kit. Trinidad didn’t hold out much hope. She knew from her days in court that a home can contain thousands of prints that might never be sorted out, even if the stranger hadn’t been wearing gloves.
After Chang dutifully did his best at retrieving prints and thoroughly photographed the place, Bigley released the house. Doug and Stan were allowed to join them. Doug clutched a bowl of salad and a plastic wrapped de-crusted cheese sandwich. Stan carried a bottle of lemonade and a plate of lemon squares. They both paused uncertainly in the doorway.
“Please come in,” she said.
Officer Chang looked longingly at the pizza.
If there was one thing Trinidad could not abide, it was seeing people hungry. “Everyone, sit down, please,” she said. “Since you’re all here, we might as well divvy up this pizza, even though it’s probably stone-cold by now.”
The officer looked hopefully at the chief.
“Oh, all right.” Bigley and Chang sat in chairs, and they all crowded together.
Trinidad opened the pizza box. Was it weird to be sharing a pizza on the heels of being stalked by an intruder? Probably, but everything was weird in this nutty town. At least there would be conversation to fill up the corners of the tiny house until Papa and Noodles returned. The thought of being alone made her flesh crawl.
“I’ll get some plates,” she said.
Quinn stopped Trinidad from heading to the kitchen. “Stay right there. You’re not doing a thing after what you just went through.”
She sighed in gratitude since her knees were still shaking. Everyone loaded up with a slice of pizza and salad, except the chief who stuck with lemonade and Doug who nibbled his cheese sandwich. Trinidad had no appetite, but she sipped some lemonade. The zingy tartness revived her a little.
She related the whole story again from her pizza purchase to her conversation with Sonny before Donald let her in and sold her the tapes.
Bigley looked grim. “I already dispatched someone to have a conversation with Mr. Petrakis.”
Quinn was thoughtful. “By my count, the list of people who knew you went to the flea market is seven.” He counted off on his fingers. “Me and Doug, Stan, Virginia, Vince Jr., Sonny, and Donald.”
“And anyone else who might have been told by any of those people,” Stan said darkly. “Or seen her driving that direction and decided to follow and see what she was up to.”
“Like Warren. He was due to pick up a pizza from Pizza Heaven when I left.”
“And Sonny might have told Candy, etc., etc.,” Officer Chang put in. His eyes flicked to Trinidad’s uneaten slice. She passed her plate to him. “Thanks,” he said. “I missed lunch.”
Stan sliced into his pizza with a plastic fork and knife. Trinidad watched the process in fascination. After he chewed and swallowed, he carefully wiped his mouth. “And, again, we are without any evidence. The tapes are gone, like the photos.”
Tapes. Trinidad stood up so quickly she almost knocked over the table. It could not be possible. Could it?
Ignoring the cries of alarm from the group, she bolted.
Chapter Eighteen
“Trinidad,” Quinn said, calling after her. “What’s wrong?”
Shaking her head, she ran to the bathroom, emerging a second later.
“Are you sick?” Quinn said. “What can I do?”
She jiggled the tape at him with a grin. “Not sick. I just remembered I had this in my hand when I locked myself in the bathroom. It slipped behind the trash can after I dropped it.”
He pumped a fist in the air. “Score one for the good guys.”
Bigley took the tape. “Let’s hope there’s something on it.”
They edged their chairs around as the chief slid it into the VCR. It lurched to life with a shot of Lupin’s laced boots and a quick view of his hairy nostrils as he readied the camera to record. A metal-sided structure came into view.
Quinn gasped. “That’s the Store Some More.”
The camera continued to pan over the clutter. “It’s unit three, that was Lupin’s,” Bigley said.
“Date on the bottom says it was recorded in March,” Chang said. “He must have made a video when he rented the unit. Smart thing to do, actually.”
They watched in tense silence as he hauled open the metal door, which squealed in protest. His movement caused the camera frame to judder unsteadily. Ten seconds later, the door was fully open, and an overhead light bulb flicked on.
Trinidad realized she was holding her breath as the camera panned over the clutter. Everyone watching had angled forward on the edge of their seats. Slowly, Lupin went from one side to the other until a car engine noise crept into the background. Lupin immediately stepped out of his unit and slammed the door. The video ceased. They watched to the end, but he did not resume taping, at least not on that cassette.
“He didn’t want anyone else to see. We finally have a video account of what was inside,” Stan said. “I will need a copy of this to study.”
Bigley nodded. “We’ll get it to you.” She ejected the video from the player.
“I want to watch it again,” Trinidad protested. “In slow motion.”
“We’ll analyze it frame by frame, I promise,” Bigley said. “And we will get a copy to Stan as well, just like I said. You can go over that with him.”
“But…”
Bigley frowned. “Sorry. That’s all you get for now. It’s more than I should have allowed. We’ll be in touch.” She darted a look at Chang who was helping himself to a treat Stan had brought. “If you’ve had enough to take the edge off
your hunger…?”
He flushed. “Sorry. I got four boys, and I’m lucky if there’s a rind of cheese left for me by dinner time,” he explained. With the chief out of range, Trinidad quickly wrapped a lemon square in a napkin and handed it to the hungry officer. He whispered a thank-you and trotted out of the tiny house. In a moment, they had driven away.
“I am tremendously sorry this happened,” Stan said. “But it does show that someone is still either searching for the treasure or perhaps trying to cover their tracks.”
“You said you found out something about Kevin,” Trinidad reminded Quinn.
He looked chagrined. “My mama always told me never to gossip, but this is straight out of the rumor factory.”
Stan took a small bite of lemon square. “At this point, any trifle might help.”
Quinn shrugged. “Rumor at the memorial before I left to follow Trinidad was that Tanya was pressuring Kevin big-time for a marriage proposal, but he wasn’t on board.”
“Who did you hear that from?” Stan asked.
“Mrs. Mavis said she heard from her friend who works at a hotel over in Scotch Corners that Tanya was looking at possible venues for her wedding.”
“Pastor Phil shared the same sort of feeling,” she said. “Did Kevin know she was going so far as to plan the ceremony?”
“Yep. Turns out our nosy local Warren heard the same thing from Mrs. Mavis. She said Warren blabbed it to Kevin at poker night, but Kevin said he had no intention of getting married for a good long while, even if she booked Buckingham Palace for the nuptials.”
“That must have been an uncomfortable situation,” Trinidad said.
“Uh-huh. Apparently, she and Kevin had a bit of a tiff about it, and he was trying to smooth things over with a present, but he didn’t tell Warren what it was.”
“There was a rosebush on his porch. I think he meant to give it to her, but he was murdered before he could. It’s there still, half-dead of the heat. The day of the murder, he was giving her a ride on his motorcycle. They seemed cool towards each other. Perhaps he’d told her he wasn’t ready for marriage.”