Lucky Stuff (Jane Wheel Mysteries) (10 page)

“Look, I’ve got to get back there before they send out the lush police, but I heard you were a private detective or something. That right?”

“Yeah, she’s solved lots of murders,” said Francis.

“Private conversation, buddy, know what that means?” said Lucky, looking back at the door and then out the window.

Francis stood up, hurt, and prepared to leave by the back door.

“Don’t go, Francis.” Jane realized she wanted to hear what Lucky was about to say, but in equal measure, she didn’t want to be alone in the room with him. “Why don’t you see what kind of cream pie is in the fridge? Have a piece with your coffee. It’s on me,” Jane said, then corrected herself. “I mean it’s on Mr. Miller, right?”

“Sure, of course. Sorry,” he said, tossing his apology in the direction of Francis, who had already left for the kitchen.

“Look, you’re a detective and I need one. Somebody’s either trying to mess with my head or … look, it’s pretty melodramatic to say somebody’s trying to kill me, so I’m sticking with mess with my head.

“I got a trunk full of stuff I carry around with me and somebody’s been fooling around with it. It’s just some memorabilia and, you know, lucky stuff, I like to have with me. I got some superstitions when I perform. Everybody who travels with me knows I carry this trunk … and anyway, somebody is taking stuff and switching it out on me. Sometimes I find little notes.”

Jane knew he had her at “trunk full of stuff,” but she wanted to know a little more before she agreed to help.

“What kind of stuff is missing and who has access?” said Jane, still busy wiping the bar.

“How about you come and work for me, be my new assistant, for a while and I’ll fill you in. Brenda has to fly to Las Vegas for the weekend and no one will think anything of it if I hire somebody local to fill in for a few days. That way you can get to know people and see how the operation works. Brenda keeps one of the keys to the trunk, and I have the other one. I’ll get you a copy and—”

“Have you considered Brenda?” asked Jane. “Why is she leaving for the weekend.”

“No, it’s not Brenda. I know it’s not Brenda,” said Lucky Miller, pointing to his shot glass for another Bushmills.

Jane turned to get the whiskey and allowed herself to smile. If Lucky Miller was so sure it wasn’t Brenda, then it probably was Brenda. This might be an easy case.

“I have to drive up to Evanston one day this weekend, probably tomorrow. I’ll be gone for six hours or so. I also might have to help out here at the bar. I mean you can introduce me as your assistant, but I might not be able to be around 24/7, so if that’s okay, I might be able to help,” said Jane.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” said Lucky. “I mean the stuff’s not valuable or anything, but I mean it’s pretty weird when someone takes a four-leaf clover and replaces it with a regular three-leaf clover, right? I mean, that’s just a head game, isn’t it?”

Jane felt in her pocket for the four-leaf clover Nellie gave her. It was still there.

Lucky stood up, then ducked down to look out the front window. Jane could see a production truck parked at the corner restaurant.

“I got to get back,” said Lucky, “before somebody tries to claim I broke my contract. Come over to the factory around lunchtime and I’ll introduce you as my assistant.”

He pulled out two sticks of peppermint gum and stuffed them in his mouth. “Not supposed to drink before five
P.M.
,” he said, shrugging. “I used to have kind of a problem.

“One more thing, huh, Jane Wheel? Your mom, Nellie? She was riding me pretty hard the other night. How about when you’re working for me, you find out what’s up with her, too? Can you do that?” asked Lucky, as he was walking out the front door. Just before the door slammed shut, Jane heard him repeat the question.

“Can you find out what’s up with Nellie?”

Jane stared at empty shot glass and the empty cup of coffee. She knew that checking out Lucky for her mother and checking out her mother for Lucky was definitely not the right thing to do. Conflict of interest, for sure.

But Jane was far too interested in the potential conflict to not take on the challenge. She would find out what was up with both of them.

“Stiffed you?”

Jane jumped. She had forgotten that Francis was in the kitchen eating whatever pie he could find in the refrigerator.

“What?”

“You forget to charge or he forget to pay?” asked Francis.

“Damn it,” said Jane, clearing the bar and washing it down.

“If you’re starting a tab for him, put two pieces of banana cream pie on it, too,” said Francis, picking up his cap. “See you tomorrow, Janie.”

“Yeah,” said Jane. “See you.”

Wiping off the bar and rinsing out the shot glass and dishes, Jane thought about Lucky Miller’s offer of a job. Still lost, she answered her phone when it vibrated, without looking at the screen.
Why did Lucky even mention somebody might be trying to kill him? Because somebody stole his lucky clovers? Why hadn’t she asked that follow-up question?

Before Jane could even finish her hello, Tim Lowry was yelling into the phone.

“Why haven’t you been picking up? I got us a great job! Meet me at the old stone factory on Water Street where they’re shooting the Lucky Miller special around noon, okay?”

“I’ve already got a job,” said Jane. “Two or three as a matter of fact,” she said.

“Not like this one, baby!” said Tim, clicking off.

The good news was that Jane had some work to do and work was the consummate distracter. Her collectibles on the lam? Her imminent house closing? No matter if she could keep her head in the game here. Her mother asking for some help? Intriguing. Lucky asking for help with her mother? Irresistible. Tim enthusiastic over a new job? Priceless. All good news

The bad news? That was what was written all over the faces of her mother and father as they walked in the back door. Their shoulders were slumped and they walked more slowly than Jane ever remembered seeing. Don and Nellie were always purposeful, both busy and businesslike. They were always in the middle of doing something. Now they both looked a little lost. Don and Nellie, the longest running show on Station Street in Kankakee looked like they were ready to bring down the curtain.

8

Don poured coffee for the two of them and held the pot aloft, looking at Jane. “Want a cup, honey?”

Jane shook her head and smiled slightly at the “honey.” Yes, there was one person allowed to call her that.

“Tell me what’s going on with Carl,” said Jane.

Nellie had disappeared into the back room and now Jane could hear her banging around in the kitchen.

“Not going to make it,” said Don. “He had a sister somewhere in Indiana and we need to find out if she had any kids. Any nieces or nephews would be his heirs. And since he’s connected to, you know, machines and stuff right now…”

“His sister died,” said Nellie, shouting from the kitchen. “I remember he told me. And she never was married. Carl doesn’t have any.”

“Heirs?” asked Jane. “Seems odd. All these years I’ve known Carl and never thought of him with a family or … anything to leave to a family. I can’t imagine him anywhere but behind the bar.”

Jane remembered a big stuffed dog Carl had given her when Nick was born. “For the baby,” Carl had said, barking it out sideways. Jane had been so touched she cried. Of course, for a few months after Nick was born, tears were her answer to everything. She cried equally hard when someone beat her out for a parking space and when someone held the door open for her in a department store. Nellie had stared hard at the stuffed dog and then at Carl.

“Wasn’t this the prize on the punchboard down at Wally’s Pub?” asked Nellie. Carl lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment over Wally’s, another tavern three blocks east of the EZ Way Inn on the street Don had named Saloonkeepers Row.

“So what?” said Carl. “I had to spend over thirty dollars in punches to win it for the baby.”

“You know, Carl, there are stores that sell things,” said Nellie.

Carl shrugged. His tan cotton jacket had come from the EZ Way Inn coatrack, left and lost by a nonregular who had come in before last spring’s golf league kick-off party. His cap had come from a baseball giveaway promotion at Wally’s earlier in the summer. At the holidays, Carl gave out cartons of cigarettes, boxes of cigars, and bottles of whiskey in festive wrappings, purchased wholesale from one or more of the delivery men he encountered while behind the bar or sitting in front of it. He gave both Nellie and Jane boxes of chocolates won from punchboards at any number of saloons along the row. Of course, Carl had managed to find a baby gift in a bar.

Jane came back to the present when she heard her dad sigh. Don shook his head. Jane knew that for her parents’ sake it would be best to find the relatives if there were any life and death decisions to be made. Jane figured Carl must be in his seventies or maybe he was even older. He had always looked exactly the same to Jane, even when she was a little girl. He had always been bald and too thin and near-sighted, with thick dark horn-rimmed glasses that looked too big for his pinched face. When it came down to it, if Carl wasn’t going to wake up, would Medicare make the decision to pull the plug or would the doctors ask Don and Nellie? Or would whatever doctor on duty when the insurance ran out be the one given the power?

“Maybe I can help find any relatives?” said Jane. “Or I can call Detective Oh. He can find anyone.”

“Who ate all of my banana cream pie?” asked Nellie from the kitchen.

“Lucky Miller stopped in for a couple of shots and he offered to buy Francis some pie,” said Jane.

“Lucky Miller was in here?” asked Don.

Jane explained that he was taping down the street. She also mentioned that he asked her to fill in for his assistant for a few days, to help him find a few of his missing possessions. She left out his reference to someone trying to kill him and his request that Jane find out what was up with Nellie.

“They serve liquor at the café. Why didn’t he get his whiskey there?” asked Nellie, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“He’s got something in his contract about daylight drinking,” said Jane. “Says he used to have a problem.

“Used to, huh?” said Don, with his first smile of the day.

Nellie took a metal coffee can out from behind her back and shook it in front of Jane. “So where’s the pie money?”

“Your mother keeps her food money separate. So when she orders from the bakery, she can pay it from the kitchen account,” explained Don, “and the kitchen account is whatever ends up in that can.”

Jane opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Don who had gone over to visit his pride and joy, his ornate polished brass cash register, a part of the EZ Way Inn as long as Don and Nellie had owned it. He looked at the paper tape he still used to keep track of the day’s receipts.

“What’d you charge him for the Bushmills? I haven’t sold a shot out of that bottle in years. Don’t even remember what it cost. I’ll have to look it up.”

“She didn’t charge anybody anything for anything,” said Nellie, crossing her arms in front of her. “Did you?”

Jane shook her head. She explained that Francis had informed her of his coffee deal, then Lucky ran out the door so fast, she hadn’t even remembered to collect.

“I don’t think he’s used to paying. Probably his assistant…”

“Better fill your purse with money from his petty-cash box,” said Nellie. “Sounds like you just took a babysitting job that might cost you money.”

Nellie was right. Jane began to apologize, but her mother cut her off.

“No need. Wasn’t your fault. I told your dad he should have a price list. Half the time Carl gave away the store. He never knew…” Nellie stopped and retreated back into the kitchen.

“I’ll make a price list,” said Don. “For you, if you help us out. And I’ll have to hire somebody for nights, I guess.”

Jane realized what an enormous weight had descended on her parents and the EZ Way Inn. Carl might have been a grouch and, on occasion, a grinch, but he was reliable and honest and loyal to Don and Nellie.

“How about Bill what’s-his-name, who worked for Wally for a while? Maybe he could fill in a couple nights,” said Don.

“Nope. He’ll drink too much,” said Nellie. “Why do you think Wally got rid of him?”

“There’s so many people out of work, Dad, there must be someone,” said Jane.

“Hard to find a bartender, Janie. If they’re honest, they probably drink. And if they drink, well, they drink,” said Don. “It’s not exactly an important career, bartending.”

“Yeah, but enough people need jobs right now, so there are—”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Nellie, wiping her hands on her apron and grabbing the scratch pad of paper always next to the cash register. “We still open early like the factory’s still going, like I have to start my soup and you know goddamn well, there’s no need to be here at seven. We’ll open at ten and we’ll close at ten. That’ll keep Francis happy in the morning, he can still get his coffee, just a little later and it’ll still give the boys a place to watch the game in the afternoon and—”

“You can’t work twelve hours a day! That’s ridiculous,” said Jane.

Don and Nellie both stared at her.

“We’ve always worked ten or twelve hours, haven’t we?” said Don, looking at Nellie. “And once or twice a week, I come back here and close up when Carl’s not feeling so well so I…”

Don stopped and Jane knew he was thinking about what might have been prevented if he had returned last night to close up. She was trying to think of something to say that would reassure her dad, when two men walked in through the back door. Jane didn’t recognize them, but Don and Nellie both stood, nodding like they had been expecting them. Don shook hands with both of the men, and although the gray-haired one tried to give Nellie a hug, she ducked out of the way and asked if they wanted a cup of coffee.

“This is our daughter, Jane, Wally. Jane, this is Wally and his brother, Mel. They own Wally’s Pub down the way.”

Jane put out her hand but both men looked confused.
Really?
thought Jane.
There are still men who are thrown by a woman who offers to shake hands?