Secondhand Stiff (20 page)

Greg gathered some of our trash and started toward Buck. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Going to see if he'll talk to us a minute.”

“If he sees you, he might bolt.”

“True, but even if he does, he won't get far on foot, providing he didn't drive his own car here, which I doubt since the cops are on the lookout for it.”

I looked at the food truck. There was no way they could shut it down and make a dash for it in short order with that lumbering vehicle.

“Just don't tell him the police are on their way,” I said in a hushed voice.

“And why would I do that?”

Greg rolled in the direction of Buck, who was occupied pushing his trash bag as deep into the receptacle as possible. When Greg reached him, Buck graciously stepped aside, inviting Greg to dump his trash. Then Buck recognized him, and his casual stance turned into one of indecision and defense. I half expected him to hit or shove Greg and take off. Greg was talking to him, saying things I couldn't hear. I watched Buck's shoulders sag and a sad frown cross his face as he looked over in my direction. I gave him a small wave and smile of encouragement. After more discussion, the two men moved in my direction.

“Odelia,” Buck greeted me.

“I told Buck how you and Grace were nearly killed in the blast at his store,” Greg told me.

“I feel real bad about that,” said Buck. “About everything.”

“So you set the bomb?” I asked.

Buck shook his head with vigor. “No ma'am, I did not. I would never destroy my store.” The conviction in his voice was unmistakable and sounded sincere. “And I would never harm people like that. Those other store owners are my friends. I've known many of them for years.”

It was exactly what Tiffany had said about her father.

“Then why are you in hiding?”

“I'm not in hiding.” He stuck out his square chin to make his point. “If I were, we wouldn't be standing here talking. I'm just not making myself available until I sort things out.”

“But what about your store?” I asked. “Are you just abandoning it, leaving the mess?”

“Since you're so interested, I've already called the insurance company. But until the investigation is over, they can't do anything.”

“The police know you took off shortly before the bomb went off.”

Buck fiddled with the front of the long apron he was wearing over a black tee shirt and jeans. In spite of the cool day, he was sweating. “After seeing poor Ina at the hearing, I couldn't work, so I grabbed a sandwich and took off for a drive up the coast to think this mess through. I do that sometimes to clear my head. I was on my way back when I heard about the bomb and about Red. That's when I decided to stay low but close. Heide's a good friend. She's been helping me.”

So that was why Buck hadn't pulled and locked the security gate across the front of his store as Bill said he usually did—he was planning on returning to the store that day. If he hadn't left to drive up the coast, he would have probably died in the blast, and us with him since Mom and I probably would have been inside, questioning him. I shuddered.

“Do you know who did set the bomb and who killed Redmond Stokes?” Greg asked.

“I have my suspicions.” Buck looked off, his eyes scanning the crowd. “I'm pretty sure it's the same people.”

I reached out and put a hand on Buck's arm. He didn't pull away. “Then go to the police.”

“I can't.” He turned his face to me, and I saw anguish in his eyes. “At least not until I can protect Tiffany.” He glanced over at the truck. “And Heide and her boys.”

“Let the police help you do that,” I urged.

“They can't, not like I can.”

“What do the van den Akkers have to do with this, outside of helping you?” Greg asked. Seeing Greg wasn't playing the Eric card up front, I decided to follow suit.

“Nothing,” Buck replied, a little too quickly to be convincing.

I looked at Greg with raised eyebrows. Buck saw it.

“What?” Buck asked, his stance and voice turning defensive again. “You two know something.”

Greg cleared his throat, and I knew he was going to open the box of snakes and see what crawled out. “We know a drug business is being funneled through the auctions.”

“You know about that?” Buck took a step backward in surprise.

“Yes, and so do the police,” I admitted. “They know drugs have been exchanged through specially marked units up for auction. Linda McIntyre is in jail right now.” I let the idea of Linda spilling her guts to the cops hang in the air like a stench, even though we'd been told she wasn't saying anything to anyone, just like Ina.

Greg adjusted his wheelchair closer to Buck. “Were Ina and Tom mixed up in this drug business? Is that why Tom was murdered and Ina won't say anything?”

“Tom was,” Buck said quickly, “but not Ina. It's what set off their more recent battles. Tom wanted to stock their store with the goods Linda was buying but couldn't store, but Ina refused, saying she wasn't about to get mixed up in it. But Tom started selling the merchandise anyway.”

I started putting the pieces together, hoping Fehring wouldn't arrive before we heard more. “Then Linda and Tom hooked up, and Ina was out?”

“I know Tom started seeing Linda; whether it was before he got involved with the drugs or after, I'm not sure.”

“Is that why Mazie Moore decided not to go into business with Linda, because of the drug connection?”

Buck shrugged. “Could be. Or it could be Mazie was scared off by Tom's murder. Linda had been buying up a lot of units lately and needed places to unload the goods. Her people didn't want the merchandise, just the drugs hidden in them. She needed legitimate businesses to take the furniture and other stuff off her hands. It was a lucrative racket. Her people would front the money for the units, and she'd buy the ones they told her to buy. The goods would be moved to someone's store, the drugs passed off to the people pulling the strings. Linda and whoever she partnered with had no outlay but received tons of merchandise they could resell with no cost to themselves. It was pure profit, except for the cost of moving it to the store.”

“But,” I pointed out, “it wasn't directly tied to selling the drugs. The auctions were the mule, so to speak, moving the drugs from the exporter to the importer without suspicion.”

Buck nodded.

Greg looked at me. “The money Ina took from their accounts is making sense. Tom was already making extra money from selling the merchandise.”

I turned to Buck. “Did you know Ina had drained their bank accounts and was about to flee the country?”

Buck shook his head. “No, but it doesn't surprise me. Too bad she didn't hit the road before Tom was killed.”

“Do you know why they killed him?”

“No, but I'm guessing it was a warning to the rest of us. Or maybe Tom did something really stupid and pissed them off. It would be like him.”

The comment drew no argument from either Greg or me and only underlined Ina's “stupid bastard” remark.

“And Red Stokes?” asked Greg.

The question clearly made Buck uncomfortable. “I doubt Red was involved. I've known and worked with the guy for years. He was too much of a straight arrow to get mixed up in something like this. I'm thinking he found out about it and raised a fuss with someone or threatened to go to the police.”

I hit Buck quick and head-on with another question. “Were you selling merchandise from these units? Or were you involved in buying marked units?”

“Absolutely not. Linda approached me, but I told her to go to hell.”

“Is that why your place was bombed?” Greg asked.

“Could be.”

“Does Tiffany know about this?” I asked.

Buck's shoulders sagged. “No. At least I don't think so. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't listen. She got the wrong idea.”

The wrong idea.
More puzzle pieces were coming together, or else I was trying to force them to fit. “Tiffany said you two had a falling out because she's a lesbian. Is that true?”

“No,” Buck insisted. “Like most fathers, I just want my daughter to be happy. I don't care if she's gay or not as long as she's happy and safe.”

“But,” I continued, “she thinks you objected to it, especially when she moved in with Kim Pawlak.”

At the mention of Kim's name, Buck visibly stiffened. Greg and I both caught the change and exchanged glances.

“It wasn't Tiffany's sexual orientation you objected to,” Greg suggested, “it was her choice of partner, wasn't it?”

Buck remained silent for a minute, then said, “Red might not have been involved, but I believe Kim is, deeply. I need to get my daughter away from her. I couldn't do that if I'm stuck talking to the police about the bombing. I'll talk to them when she's safe.”

Greg didn't seem satisfied. “How did you find out Kim Pawlak was involved? Was it from Ina?”

“Tiffany told us,” I added, “that one of the reasons Ina went to the auction that morning was to tell you something. In all the chaos of that day, did she manage to tell you something important, like maybe how Kim was involved?”

He looked surprised. “No, Ina didn't say anything to me about the drug business. I didn't see her before the auction, and after Tom was found, that's all the focus was on. But I don't think she knew about Kim.”

“So who told you?” Greg pressed, unable to give up on that line of questioning. “Frankly, I think it was Red Stokes.”

Buck looked up at the sky, then over toward the tables where students were enjoying their lunch. “Yes,” he said, not looking at us. “It was Red. He came to me after Tiff got involved with Kim and said he was pretty sure Kim was involved in something illegal. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, just that he felt she was using Acme to cover her activities, and he was investigating it. He was warning me to get my daughter away from her so she wouldn't go down when Kim went down.”

It was all starting to fall in place in my crammed head. “So Red was investigating Kim and told you, and on the same day he was killed, an attempt was also made on your life.”

Buck nodded. “Kim must have found out he was watching her and had talked to me.”

“Buck,” someone called. We looked over at the truck to see Eric van den Akker sticking his head out the back door. “Come on, man. It's getting busy.”

“I gotta get back. These college events mean big money for Heide, and she needs the extra hands.”

“Where's Paul today?” I asked. “Is he off writing hateful reviews about resale shops or is he backing off now that yours burned to the ground?”

Buck looked surprised at the question, then wary, answering my question with some of his own. “How do you know so much, and how did you find me?”

“The important thing is,” I pointed out, “if we could find you, so can the police.”

“We think we saw Eric at Busy Boxes early this morning,” Greg told him, finally throwing that information onto the fire.

Instead of speaking, Buck spread his thick legs and planted himself like a tree, crossing his arms in front of his beefy chest. A snake tattoo on his right arm nearly came alive with the itch to strike.

Greg didn't back down. “He's mixed up in this mess too, isn't he?”

Buck stuck a meaty index finger in Greg's face. “Eric has nothing to do with this. Nothing! Is that clear?”

Buck's earlier passion was straying into anger, but I moved closer. “We think Eric was scraping a mark off a unit today. We think he was sending a warning to whoever was going to buy it not to do it. That means he's working with them.”

“I'm telling you, Eric has nothing to do with this. He's a good kid—moody, but solid and dependable. Hell, he supported his mother and brother after his father was killed.”

Greg pulled out his cell phone and showed Buck a photo taken in front of Busy Boxes.

Buck started to comment but instead took off for the truck. He climbed into it and closed the door behind him.

“Do you think he's going to make a run for it?” Greg asked.

“Maybe, but it will take a few minutes before they can close up and maneuver the truck out of that spot without running people over. Hopefully Fehring will get here by then.”

A minute later, loud male voices boomed from the Comfort Foodies truck. Around us, people stopped eating and stared at the restaurant on wheels. Customers at the window backed up. Next, a female voice joined the argument. I scooted over near the back door, hoping to catch what the fight was about, but before I could hear anything of value, the back door flung open, nearly smacking me in the face. Out jumped Eric van den Akker. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he took off running toward the parking lot.

Greg motioned for me to get out of the way, which I did, joining him by the table again.

“I couldn't hear much except swearing,” I reported.

Greg took me by the elbow. “Let's get out of here too, sweetheart.”

“You don't want to wait for Detective Fehring and tell her what we found out?”

“We can tell her by phone. Right now I'd feel better if we helped Buck out by finding his daughter and getting her away from Kim. If Kim is mixed up in this, she may use Tiffany as leverage.”

A shiver went down my spine. “Meaning she could be the third victim?”

“Exactly. The police can handle this and find Eric.”

It was then we noticed campus security had moved in and posted themselves near the truck. In their hands were radios, which they were actively using. As Greg and I started toward the parking lot, taking the same path as Eric, we saw police cars edging their way down the paved walkways, being careful of the people milling about. They made their way toward the food truck—a pack of wolves moving in for the kill. No doubt Fehring was in one of the lead cars, and she'd brought reinforcements from the local cops. I started moving faster, with Greg keeping pace alongside me. We had to get out of there or we'd be caught up in questioning hell for hours.