Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 01 - Murder Off the Books (3 page)

“Thanks, but I’ve got it under control,” Rachel answered, wondering if the other woman could sense the lie.

She didn’t have anything under control.

Chapter 4

Edgar Freed was punctual, even if he looked like death on wheels. Mac had to hand it to him; the old man was waiting on the sidewalk outside his house at 3 A.M., scooter chair and all. The black felt fedora and faded suit jacket worn over his flannel pajamas must have been the old guy’s idea of a disguise.

“I see you got my note,” Edgar wheezed.

“Whiskey doesn’t usually sport a bandana. I couldn’t miss it.” Mac resisted tilting his head to match the old guy’s permanent sideways list. The meeting with Edgar was a direct result of an earlier encounter with the old man’s wife, Elinor.

“I’m almost sure I read in the newspaper that you were dead,” Elinor Freed had exclaimed, adjusting her bifocals and peering into the open driver’s side window of the appliance truck.

He’d been so focused on the Brenner house that he’d failed to notice the old woman creeping up on him.

“You need to do some advertising. You can’t run a successful business just going door to door. Especially if you’re too embarrassed to actually knock on doors.”

The old lady had offered him a glass of water, a long list of small repair jobs she wanted done, and advice. Lots of advice.

After a tricky beer cap removal operation from her garbage disposal–a beer cap that her ailing husband had to explain–Mac had escaped the Freed home, relatively unscathed. Whiskey had left sporting a new bandana and a note from the old man.

“Well, let’s get a move on. We don’t want to be seen. Can you get this contraption in your truck?”

Mac considered his options. Apparently the old man was serious. Mac hadn’t been sure when he’d read the scribbled note wrapped in the cloth that had been tied to Whiskey’s collar. Edgar had claimed to have vital information for him about the ‘goings-on’ in the Brenner house. Afraid the guy was going to blow his cover, Mac had maintained his surveillance of the Brenner house, while also keeping one eye on the Freed house. At a quarter of three, he had gone back to his truck, gave Whiskey a bladder break, and drove around the block, timing his arrival in front of the Freed house to match the old man’s instructions.

“Can you walk?” Mac asked, instead of asking the real question in his mind. Was the old man gonna keel over dead in the immediate future–like in the next few minutes?

“Not far. But a big guy like you ought to be able to lift this scooter.”

“Why don’t you just tell me whatever–”

“Not here. Besides
….” The old man waved him closer.

Mac leaned over, holding his breath as the odor of Ben Gay and peppermint assaulted his nose.

Edgar Freed chuckled. “I’m gonna have to show you where to dig.”

Mac straightened. He motioned for the old man to get up.

As he hefted the red scooter chair into the back of the truck, Mac sighed. Why did he ever think the private detective business was going to involve red Ferraris and beautiful bikini-clad women throwing themselves at him?

***

The novel wasn’t holding her attention. Rachel took off her reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. The steady thrum of Snickers breathing on the pillow next to her was reassuring. “Glad one of us can sleep,” she whispered.

She adjusted the pillows behind her back and wished she could stop worrying about Dan. Tossing the book on the bedside table, she checked her alarm clock. Less than four hours before she had to get up for work. Once again, Dan was the cause of a sleepless night. Just like he’d done all those years to their mother and grandparents.

The light from her bedside lamp flickered and her attention was diverted from her brother to the break-in. She wondered if she should have left the lights on downstairs. Sam’s best friend, Ray, had appeared on her doorstep minutes after she’d arrived home from work. The young man had methodically checked her locks and replaced a few that didn’t pass his scrutiny. Carrie had joined them for pizza afterwards and both teens had worked hard at distracting her from her worries. But now the house was empty except for Snickers. And it was dark.

“Okay, just stop it. You’ve got to get some sleep and you don’t really believe that having the lights on is going to stop someone who is determined to get in.” She reached to turn out the bedside lamp, double-checking that the portable phone was in its cradle next to her alarm clock. Her fingers around the switch, she paused and instead, leaned over the side of the bed and peered underneath. A hockey stick and a baseball bat were just under the edge.

Satisfied with her security precautions, Rachel shut off the light and rolled onto her side. If her intruders came back, she wasn’t going to be doing any more hiding.

***

“So are you Fed or a private dick?”

Edgar Freed was sitting in his scooter chair right behind the driver’s seat. Mac had made sure the brakes were engaged on the scooter but he still had visions of having to stop the panel truck too quickly and the old man ending up in his lap.

Mac glanced in his rear view mirror. “Private Investigator. Just for future reference, why didn’t you believe I was a repairman?”

“I saw you the night before driving that ice cream truck. Figured you were staking out that divorcée’s house. Besides, you didn’t make Elinor pay you on the spot. No repairman I know just sends a bill.”

“You seem to see a lot for someone in your condition. How’s that work? Your wife park you out on the roof with a pair of binoculars and some bird feed?”

The old man cackled. “Elinor doesn’t know what I do after 8:30. She goes to bed with the chickens.”

“So what’s your story?”

“You were right about the binoculars. My great nephew got me a pair of those night vision goggles like the ones the military uses. He’s a Navy Seal. Done real well for himself.” The old man shifted in his chair. “Anyway, mighty interesting stuff goes on in this neighborhood at night. I just drive myself out onto our second floor deck and take a gander at who’s doing what.”

“And that’s how you saw someone digging in Mrs. Brenner’s flower bed on Saturday night?”

“10-4,” Edgar responded. “And not just someone. It was the woman’s brother. Elinor pointed him out to me before. My wife keeps track of who’s who around here. Me, I’m more interested in what they’re doing.”

The old man laughed again, which brought on a coughing fit.

Whiskey, who’d watched the proceedings without comment to this point, barked an alarm.

“I hear him, girl,” Mac responded, hoping he wasn’t going to have to do CPR on the man before the night was over. He hated the taste of peppermint.

***

The touch of a damp, sandpapery tongue licking at her cheek woke her. Rachel jerked and almost knocked her feline companion off the bed.

“Damn it, Snickers. You know I hate it when you do that.” She scrubbed at the side of her face, trying to erase the crawling sensation.

In the dark the cat’s unblinking green eyes seemed to glow as she stared into Rachel’s face.

“What is it? I’m not feeding you anything else this late, so forget it.”

The cat arched her back and hissed.

Rachel reached out a hand and stroked the cat’s fur. “Is this some kind of delayed reaction to last night’s events? I know we’re both a little twitchy but we really need to try to get some sleep. I have to work tomorrow and you have to…well, do whatever you do all day while I’m at work.”

The radiator in her bedroom clanged as the furnace switched on.

Snickers hissed again and jumped to the floor. She stalked over to an armchair and used it to climb onto the windowsill.

“It’s too cold to open the window.”

The cat stared out into the night, and then turned back towards her.

“If you are trying to tell me the Wilson’s light is out, I know that. The police told me the bulb was broken.”

 
The cat’s eyes narrowed to glittery green slits.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Rachel tossed back the covers and hurriedly crossed the chilly room. She scooped up the fluffy sentry and quickly returned them both to the warmth of her bed.

Tucking the cat under the covers next to her side, Rachel slowly stroked the cat’s fur, whispering, “Go to sleep. I’ll make sure nothing sneaks up on us.”

***

“The gun should be right about there.” Edgar pointed to a spot under a rose bush about a foot from where Mac was kneeling.

“Gun!” Mac’s voice was a little louder than he’d intended, but the old man had failed to mention a gun before.

“What did you think we were digging for? Bulbs?” Edgar cackled and then coughed.

“Shush. We don’t want to wake her up,” Mac warned, glancing at the dark house, glad he’d left Whiskey in the truck.

The old man nodded, lowering his voice to a whisper. “It was late, just past 11 P.M. on Saturday night. The brother drove up and instead of going to the front door, he came around to the side of the house and started digging by that bush. I saw him pull a gun out of his jacket, wrap it in one of those knitted caps, and stick it in the hole. He covered it up real nice with some of that cedar mulch you see there.”

“How did you see all that? The goggles?”

“Nah. Didn’t need them. The Wilsons’,” Edgar pointed to his right, “have one of those motion detector lights. When the brother walked across the yard, it lit up.”

Mac looked towards the house the man had indicated. He didn’t remember any light when Whiskey was busy stealing a ham on Sunday night. “It must not be working now.”

The old man shrugged his bony shoulders. “Hasn’t worked since the burglary. Think the thieves did that?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. What happened after you saw Thayer bury the gun?” Mac continued sifting through the loose soil and mulch around the bush, trying to avoid catching his coat on the thorns.

“He left. Just got in his car and drove away.”

Mac leaned back on his heels. “Okay, I’ve found the hole but nothing is here now. How come you didn’t call the police?”

“Did call–twice. They put me on hold–twice. I don’t have enough time left in this world to be spending any of it on hold.”

Mac dusted off his hands on his jeans. “You didn’t see anyone around later that night? Or how about the burglary on Sunday night?”

Before the old man could answer, the lights in the house began coming on.

“Let’s go,” Mac whispered, scrambling to his feet.

The sound of the back door opening panicked both men.

“Save yourself,” Edgar gasped, waving Mac towards the nearby oak tree. “Get up there. I’ll divert her.”

Feeling as foolish as he probably looked, Mac climbed the tree, hoping there were enough leaves left on the branches to hide him.

***

Rachel Brenner came around the house, flashlight in one hand, baseball bat in the other. “Mr. Freed? What in the world are you doing out here?”

The old man jerked upright in his scooter chair as though her voice had awakened him. “Who’s that?”

“Rachel Brenner,” she answered, shining the flashlight at him and then drawing close to the elderly neighbor she’d known casually for years. “What are you doing here?”

Edgar rubbed one hand across his wrinkled face and then blinked several times. “Is that you, Miz. Brenner?”

Rachel lowered the light so it wasn’t shining in the old man’s face.

Edgar groaned, and then reached out a shaking hand to the woman. “Miz. Brenner?”

Personally, Mac thought he was overdoing it a bit, but since he was the one sitting in a tree like a squirrel, he didn’t feel like he was in any position to criticize the old guy.

Rachel dropped the bat and took Edgar’s hand. “Yes, it’s Rachel Brenner. Why are you in my yard, Mr. Freed? Where’s Elinor?”

“I-I.” Edgar paused. “I must have been sleepwalking. Can you take me home?”

Rachel frowned, glancing pointedly at his scooter chair. “Sleepwalking?”

The old man nodded. “I guess you’d actually call it sleep rolling.” He turned on the scooter chair and it began moving slowly over the grass. Calling over his shoulder, he added, “I’ll go home now–if I can find my house. It’s a terrible thing to get old, Rachel. Don’t ever do it.”

She hurried forward. “I’ll just walk with you. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Let’s keep this our little secret,” the cagey Edgar added as he maneuvered the scooter chair up on the sidewalk. “Elinor gets wind of this, she’ll stick me in a nursing home. Course if she did, she’d have more time for her neighbors.”

Even from his tree branch, Mac could tell from the way Rachel’s back stiffened that she didn’t think more time with Elinor Freed was a good thing.

“My lips are sealed,” she told the old man.

Mac swung down from the tree, landing more heavily than he would have liked. “Yeah, Rachel,” he sarcastically mumbled. “Getting old is the pits.”