Groomed For Murder: A Pet Boutique Mystery (16 page)

Sixteen

A
s a thank-you for all of our sleuthing, Aunt Dolly invited Rena and me to the Thistle and Ivy, Merryville’s answer to the classic Irish pub. The restaurant boasted half timbers on the plaster walls, coats of arms on banners hanging from the rafters, a huge map of Ireland, and—oddly—a kilt and sporran mounted in a shadow box frame. The food was good, solid comfort food, though Rena and I had only limited meat-free choices. The chef and owner, Danielle Phipps, played canasta with my mother and Ingrid, though, and she took care of us: every time we came in, she’d make a special vegetarian shepherd’s pie with mushroom gravy, root vegetables, and cashews all cloaked in a mound of fluffy white mashed potatoes. Rena had tried to re-create the mushroom gravy on many occasions, but she couldn’t quite replicate the balance of salty, earthy, and just a touch of sweet.

The hostess led us to a tall table with equally tall chairs. I had no problem with the chairs, as the McHale sisters are all strapping women, but both Dolly and Rena had to jump into the seat. Dolly actually had a few false starts, and by the time she got situated, her skimpy leather skirt was riding so high I was afraid some poor waiter would see something he could never unsee.

After we’d placed our orders, Rena and Dolly returned to a friendly argument over whether Miley Cyrus was a misunderstood artist who was ahead of her time or a musical hack who would do anything for a little publicity. I’m not saying a word about who was on which side. Their familiar prattle gave me an opportunity to dash to the ladies’ room before the food arrived.

As I made my way toward the back of the restaurant, I spotted Steve and Ama Olmstead. They’d managed to snag a coveted booth. Steve wore a tie and a button-up shirt, and Ama looked killer in a clingy red dress with ruching at the side, which really defined her curves. A pair of golden hoops dangled from her ears, and her lipstick matched her dress to a T.

“Hi guys. No Jordan tonight?” I asked.

Steve gave me a big grin. “Nope. Tonight’s date night.”

“Oh jeez,” I said, backing away from their table. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“No, not at all,” Steve said. Ama shot him an annoyed glance. Whether it was me in particular or company in general, it was clear she wanted to be left alone with her husband.

“My sister mentioned she’d had a chat with you out at the lakeside development,” Steve said. His tone was casual, but my hackles went up immediately.

“Yep.”

“I was a little surprised you were out there. It’s quite a hike from town and I didn’t take you for the outdoorsy type. And Dee Dee doesn’t get many visitors. I can’t imagine what you all wanted from her.”

I detected an edge to Steve’s voice. He must have been used to protecting his quirky sister from being manipulated and teased by other people. I had to say something, but for the life of me I couldn’t come up with any explanation other than the truth.

“We went out there because of Daniel Colona. It’s just coincidence that we ran into Dee Dee.”

“I don’t get it,” Steve said.

“Well, Richard Greene said he’d seen Daniel up there several times, and your sister confirmed that he was hanging around a lot. We just wondered why.” I don’t know what devil got into me, but I decided to push him a bit. “We thought maybe there was something going on out there. You know, something a reporter might be interested in.”

Steve visibly relaxed. In fact he laughed. “There’s nothing going on out there at the moment. Certainly nothing that would interest a reporter.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Pris mentioned that there was a little cash flow issue with the development.”

It was crass to bring up money like that, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, my workers talk with some of the guys from Brainerd. All of them have beers
at the Silent Woman, you know. My guys tell me that Hal hit a bump in the road. I guess I should just count my lucky stars that he didn’t grant me the contract. If he had, I’d have been up there with my crew, all of us just sitting on our hands and wondering if we’d get paid.”

Ama cleared her throat, a clear girl-to-girl signal that I should leave.

I took a step away, but then stopped and pivoted back to the table. “I almost forgot. Ama, you’ve got a big fan.”

“Really.” She smiled. “Who?”

“Daisy May.”

She looked puzzled. Because, of course, not everyone remembered the names of other people’s pets.

“Daniel’s Weimaraner. She’s usually really quiet, but when she hears that TV ad for the
Gazette
, she starts barking the moment you start talking. I think she has a crush on you.”

For an instant, Ama looked truly horrified.

“Oh, I mean not like a boy-girl crush. Just a doggy crush. She’d never, like, try to . . .” I managed to put the brakes on my mouth.
Stop talking, Izzy. Just stop talking and walk away.

“Anyway, you two have a good night.”

I slunk to the ladies’ and managed to avoid eye contact with the Olmsteads as I headed back to our table, where I was surprised to see Jack Collins.

“Look who we found,” Dolly crowed. She leaned over a little to rest her bony hand on his. I don’t know whether it was intentional, but she flashed a little
cleavage. Who was I kidding? Of course it was intentional. Leave it to Aunt Dolly to flirt with the cop who’d arrested her just a few days before.

I slid back into my seat as Jack explained. “I swung by to have a beer with Cliff Johnson. It’s his birthday.”

I glanced toward the bar and saw half a dozen men I recognized as local police officers leaning against the rail and buying rounds for the short, balding man in the middle.

“I saw him and waved him over,” Rena said. She looked at me with a little cock of her head, a challenge in her gaze.

I looked back at Jack and he smiled at me, a slow devilish smile, like we shared a secret.

“Well. Um, yeah. Good to see you.”

“Well. Um, yeah. Good to see you, too,” he teased.

Rena piped up. “Was that the Olmsteads you were talking to?”

“Yes.”

“You were chatting with them a long time. Learn anything interesting?”

“Nothing at all. Just made a little small talk about the Badger Lake development. If Steve has any inside scoop from his sister, he’s not sharing.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jack’s smile melting into a frown of deep displeasure.

“It’s gotta be those owls,” Rena said. “I mean we basically ruled out the mob—unless, of course, Hal was lying to you two—but the owls would make a huge story, and Hal’s alibi is as flimsy as that house wrap he’s using.”

“I don’t think we should rule out the mob,” Dolly said. “We only have Hal’s word that the new investor is Japanese, and Hal lies. Besides, there’s a Japanese mob, you know. The yakuza. I heard about them on
Byline Crime
. They’re apparently every bit as dangerous as the regular mob.”

“Enough!” Jack’s hand sliced through the air as though he were dropping a NASCAR flag.

“What have you been up to? The mob? What the heck does the mob have to do with anything?”

“It’s really just a theory,” I said. “Pris Olson said that Hal had found some investors to save the development out by the lake and that they wanted to be silent partners. ‘Very silent,’ she said. Rena thinks that means the mob, and she makes a pretty compelling case.”

Rena held up a hand, and we high-fived.

“Hal Olson the RV King and the mob? That’s the most cockamamy story I’ve ever heard.”

“Why?” I asked. I’d played the devil’s advocate to Rena’s theory, but it was starting to make more sense to me. “You know the mob works with some of those outstate loners.”

“Yes, buying meth. Not investing in condos.”

“But Rena’s right. Investing in the condo development could be a way for them to launder money.”

“Do you have any idea how laundering money actually works?” Jack asked.

“Not exactly,” I said. “That’s why we’re giving all our information to you—the mob, the owls, the hole in Hal’s alibi. We’re not trying to do your job. We’re just helping.”

Jack crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them, like a kid catching a nap.

Dolly, Rena, and I just watched him.

Finally, he lifted his head. “First of all, I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation, especially in front of an accused suspect, but since you three are operating in some sort of fantasyland, I think it’s safe to tell you that there is absolutely no indication of the mob operating in Merryville.”

“But have you actually looked?” I asked.

He closed his eyes. “No.”

“So then—”

“Unh. Stop. I’m still talking. Once again, the bigger issue is not how crazy you all sound but the fact that you’re putting yourself in harm’s way. Let’s just imagine for one insane moment that you’re right. That Daniel Colona was investigating mob activity in Merryville, Minnesota, and it got him killed. What’s to stop those same mobsters from killing you?”

Rena, Dolly, and I exchanged sheepish glances.

“Exactly. Now, please, for the love of all that’s holy, stay out of this investigation.” Jack stood up then, and with a small salute made his way back to the cluster of cops standing by the bar.

Okay, I’ll admit he made a good point. I wasn’t about to stop trying to find the killer, but I could be a little more discreet in my inquiries.

*   *   *

Later in the evening, I left Dolly and Rena sharing a chocolate molten lava cake with dulce de leche ice cream, and moved to the bar to find Jack.

I caught him pulling on his jacket, ready to leave.

“Can I walk you out?” I asked.

“Sure.”

We made our way through the late evening crowd. Jack held open the door as we stepped into the clear night. Spring had come early to Merryville, and the air had a softness to it. It was perfectly neutral in temperature, and the gentle breeze bore no chill. A glance up revealed a sky full of steady stars.

“We okay?” I asked.

“Are you asking if I’m okay with you snooping around Daniel’s murder? Because the answer is no.”

“I’m asking if you can still tolerate me despite the fact that I have every intention of snooping around Daniel’s murder. Slightly different question.”

He laughed softly, little more than a vibration deep in his chest.

“Yes, if you don’t get yourself killed, I will get past your crazy insistence on asking questions that are none of your business. I understand that it comes from a place of love, and I respect that. I don’t condone it, but I respect it.”

“Good. Because I forgot to tell you something.”

He sighed.

“The other morning, we found one of Daniel’s journals.”

“You were in his apartment?” I could practically feel him starting to stiffen.

“No, it was on the main floor. Honest, we didn’t go looking for it. We just found it. Anyway, it’s mostly gibberish. But it did have what we think is a picture of a burrowing owl next to the letters ‘DNR,’ which we
think is the Department of Natural Resources. And the date June tenth, which we haven’t figured out. And Dee Dee Lahti’s and Ama Olmstead’s phone numbers.”

I paused to find him staring at me with an expression of mingled astonishment and frustration.

“What?”

“Did it have a map to where his killer lives?”

It was my turn to sigh. “Of course not. Look, we’ve given you most of the information that’s in the journal. We told you about the owls and the Badger Lake development, and that’s what the picture and Dee Dee’s number was about; he was calling her to reach Kevin, to ask Kevin to take him out looking for the owls. Ama’s number makes sense. He was a reporter and he’d obviously want to have some connection in town. Ama swears he never actually called her. And that just leaves the date. We don’t know what the date means.”

“Are you going to give me the journal?”

“Of course. We just forgot is all. Like I said, we’re just trying to help.”

“You sure are a stubborn woman.”

“Am I?” I’d never thought of myself as stubborn.

He placed both his palms on his forehead and shook his head slowly. “You’re kidding me, right? I think I’ve told you to mind your own business and stay out of this murder investigation two times already—”

“Three, if you count tonight.”

He laughed. “Thank you. I’ve asked you to leave the policing to the police
three
times in as many days, and yet you’re telling me about going through Daniel Colona’s personal effects.”

I drew myself up and planted my hands on my hips. “Look, it’s not like we went through his personal effects tonight. It was a couple of days ago, and I’m telling you now because I want to be up-front with you. It’s not like Rena and I went looking for this.” Okay, we’d gone looking for plenty, but not for
this
. “Val stole it. Hard to say when, but Daniel didn’t ask us if we’d found it, so probably the night of the murder.”

“Val the ferret?”

“Oh yes, she’s a total kleptomaniac. We’re always returning wallets and lipsticks and the occasional bottle of Xanax. For all I know, Val managed to finagle Daniel’s journal out of his pocket while the EMTs were working on him. She’s fast. And crafty.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You live a strange life, Izzy McHale.”

“Do I?” I teased, flashing him a quick smile.

He laughed in response. “Minx.

“But seriously, even if the ferret dumped Colona’s journal in your lap, your number one move should have been to call the police—call
me
—not go snooping through its contents.”

“Fair enough. But we did help.”

Jack threw his arms wide, tipped his head back, and groaned to the heavens above. “I give up. You helped. Just please, for all that’s holy, stop helping.”

As he lowered his head and arms, I noticed how the mellow light of the streetlamp picked out streaks of gold in his dark blond hair. It was cut to such military precision, the short strands stood out like sparks around his head. I also noticed how big he was. I mean,
I’d always known he was a big guy, dominating both the football field and the hockey rink in high school, but I’d never thought about how much bigger he was than me. The McHale girls are not petite, but I suddenly felt dainty in his presence.