Secondhand Stiff (4 page)

“I'll be right there. Tell me exactly where you are.”

“That's okay, Greg. We'll be fine. There's really nothing you can do.”

“I can get my mother and yours the hell out of there, and you can stay with Ina. Or you can drive the moms and I'll stay with Ina. Either way, we need to get the old girls home.”

What he said made sense. The police would take Renee and Mom's statements, then release them. They might take Ina in or release her. It was difficult to say, but her questioning would take longer.

“Should we call Seth?” I asked. “He helped me through questioning last time.”

“I'm going to call Seth, but for a referral for an experienced criminal lawyer. Something tells me this might need more legal muscle. Find out if Ina has a lawyer. If not, we can use the referral.”

“Oh, crap!” I said into the phone, remembering something. “Seth and Zee are still out of town.” Their daughter, Hannah, had recently moved with her husband to Chicago. Seth and Zee had taken off for a couple of weeks to spend Thanksgiving with them and then see friends who lived in the Midwest.

“I can still call him,” said Greg. “If I don't reach him, I'll call Steele.”

I groaned. Mike Steele was my obnoxious boss. He had a sick love for my stumbling in and out of trouble, but he was a kick-ass attorney, though not in the field of criminal law. “But call Seth first,” I insisted. “We could even call Clark, who could ask Willie. I'm sure Willie knows lots of experienced criminal attorneys. Or even Dev, though I'm not sure I want Dev knowing I stumbled upon another body.”

“All good ideas, sweetheart. One way or another, we'll find Ina an excellent lawyer.”

I held the phone like a lifeline, worried about my next question. “Greg, do you think Ina might have had something to do with Tom's death? She did seem genuinely shocked when she saw the body, but you never know.”

“Ina's no angel, and she and Tom have always had problems, but I can't imagine her killing anyone.”

I'm sure the families of most killers thought that.
I did not voice my thoughts to Greg.

“But either way,” he continued, “she'll need competent legal help to get through this. If she and Tom were having problems and Tom was cheating, the cops will see it as motive. I sure hope she has a good alibi.” There was a pause, but it wasn't followed by swearing. “For once, I'm glad you were there when a body was found. I'd hate to think of Ina going through this on her own.”

I tapped the phone to make sure I'd heard correctly. “So you're not going to tell me to keep my nose out of it?”

“I think this is the perfect time for both of us to stick our noses into something.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, only if Ina is implicated.”

Yeah, right.
I know my husband. Even if Ina is totally cleared as a suspect, Greg will want to get to the bottom of who killed Tom Bruce. He may not have liked Tom, but the killing was too close to home for him to stay out of it.

I glanced back at the locker to find the police moving everyone out of the area. The group of bystanders, including Ina, Renee, and Mom, was being herded once again, but this time toward the front of the storage compound.

“Honey, I have to go. They're clearing the area.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Stick close to Ina. The moms will probably be okay, but who knows what might come out of Ina's mouth under the circumstances.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” I love it when my hubby exerts his take-charge personality—well, I love it when it doesn't collide with my own pig-headed streak.

four

When I caught up
to the crowd, they were being held in an area just inside the front gate of Elite Storage. The police were methodically working through everyone, taking names, contact information, and short statements. It looked like we might be here a good long time. Kim Pawlak sensed the same thing and disappeared into the office, returning with two folding chairs for Renee and Mom, for which I thanked her.

Ina was off to the side. With her was the big guy in the wife-beater shirt, the guy Mom had attacked with her purse. He was holding Ina while she sobbed. Seeing that Mom and Renee appeared cool and collected, at least for the moment, I scooted over to Ina, curious about her comforter. He had ruthlessly outbid her for a locker earlier and now was providing a shoulder to cry on.

“Ina, how are you doing?” I asked as I approached.

She pulled away from the man and sniffled. “How do you think I'm doing?” she snapped. “My husband is dead.”

The man looked me over, his face not nearly as hard as his overall appearance. I placed him in his early forties. When he held out a hand to me in introduction, I took it. “Name's Clarence Goodwin, but everyone calls me Buck. I'm a colleague of Tom and Ina's—and their friend.”

“Odelia Grey. I'm married to one of Ina's cousins.”

Buck gave me a small smile of recognition. “That would be the guy in the wheelchair, right? Ina's told me a lot about him.”

I nodded. It didn't surprise me that Ina had mentioned Greg. In spite of her gruff exterior, I knew she adored him. That was also the reason Greg was jumping in to help her. He considered Ina a wayward younger sister more than a second cousin.

I turned to face Ina. “In fact, that was Greg on the phone. He's on his way here.” She looked up with surprise, so I explained. “One of us will take Renee and my mother home, and one of us will stay with you. Greg's also finding an attorney to help you through the questioning. Or do you have your own lawyer?”

“I don't need a damn lawyer,” Ina hissed through her tears. “I didn't kill Tom!”

“I'm sure you didn't,” I told her. “But it's best to have an attorney present during questioning like this. As the spouse, you'll be scrutinized.”

“She's right, Ina,” Buck added. “Cops can twist your words all around if you don't have a good mouthpiece.”

Ina took a deep breath, and the three of us looked back in the direction of the locker, which, thankfully, we could not see from where we stood.

“Have they questioned you?” I asked.

Ina didn't respond, but Buck did. “I don't think they've done anything except take her statement of what happened just now, like they're doing to all of us.”

“They might take her to the station for her questioning.” I looked at Ina again. Her heavy eye makeup was dripping like melting licorice. “Do you have an attorney you can call?” I asked again. Ina shook her head.

“Greg and I know several attorneys. We'll find someone to help you.”

“But I can't afford an attorney,” she whined.

“Don't worry about that right now,” I said. “We'll deal with that later.”

I looked around at the people being questioned and those waiting to be questioned. “What happened to Linda McIntyre?” Even though I knew she'd disappeared shortly after Tom was discovered, there was always the possibility she hadn't gone far.

Buck surveyed the parking lot just beyond the front gate. “Her SUV's gone,” he reported. “It was parked right next to my truck. She drives a red Chevy Tahoe.” He pointed toward a silver Ford pickup. The space next to it was empty.

I checked out the parking lot, looking for a red SUV. Nothing. “The police are going to want to talk to her for sure.”

“Why?” whined Ina. “Can't I even be a widow without her coming between me and Tom?”

It was Buck who answered her. “For starters, the police will want to talk to Linda because she was here when Tom was found. And considering her personal relationship with him, she could be a suspect.”

The last part of his comment struck a chord with Ina. “You think maybe
she
killed him?” Her ink-rimmed eyes went wide—but not with surprise, more with satisfaction. “If she did kill Tom, it serves him right.”

“Shh,” I cautioned, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. “You might not want to seem so pleased about the prospect.”

Buck also surveyed the area to see if anyone had their ears tuned to us, but it appeared we were pretty much alone. “Odelia's right. The police will push you to the wall on this; there's no need to give them fuel for the fire. Keep comments like that to yourself and your lawyer.”

“Tell me,” I said to Ina, “can you think of anyone who might have had reason to kill Tom?”

Instead of answering, Ina wiped the back of her hand across her face, dragging it over her runny nose and streaks of black makeup. Before I could dig a tissue from my purse, Buck handed her a clean blue cotton handkerchief produced from a pocket of his cargo shorts. While Ina mopped herself up, I checked Buck out, taking in the bulky tat-covered arms, the stubble on his face, and his thinning blond hair.

He noticed my unabashed curiosity and gave me a small grin. “In spite of what that old bag with the big purse said about my upbringing, my mother taught me never to leave the house without a clean hankie.”

“That old bag is my mother,” I informed him.

“Oh. Sorry.” He looked away with embarrassment.

Maybe Buck Goodwin didn't get mad at my mother's attack because of her age. Maybe it was just years of good upbringing that had kept him from ripping her offending purse from her arm and stomping on it, as I might have done.

I turned my attention back to the conversation. “We'll have to make sure the police know that Linda was here and took off.”
I looked around. “I think several others took off, too.”

“Yeah,” Buck agreed. “Ted Hudsinger and Pedro Serrano are both gone. No surprise there; both have had run-ins with the law over the years.”

“Any problems between them and Tom?” I asked.

Ina remained mute, but Buck shook his head and answered, “Not that I know of. They both have their issues but pretty much get along with the other buyers. Most of the regulars know each other, even if they're not drinking buddies.”

“I saw the two guys in the baseball hats try to make a break for it, but the police stopped them. What do you know about them?”

Buck surveyed the crowd until his eyes settled on the two men I'd mentioned. “The tall one is Roberto Vasquez. He seems to be a cool enough guy—a family man. Sometimes his wife comes to the auctions with him. The guy with him today is his nephew Guillermo. He's been coming around more lately.”

Ina came out of her silent haze to also check out those who were left in the crowd. “Mazie Moore is also gone.” Ina wiped her nose again, this time using Buck's handkerchief. “I'll bet she left with Linda. Those two are thick as thieves.”

I thought about Linda and the woman with the visor. “I didn't notice Linda with anyone until after, when she was having words with a short black woman.”

Ina nodded. “That would be Mazie. They always come separately, but often partner up in the bidding. They like to think the rest of us don't know they work together, but they do.”

“Mazie owns two secondhand shops. One in Inglewood and another in Pico Rivera,” Buck explained.

“Where is Linda's shop?” I asked.

“She doesn't have one,” snorted Ina. “She mostly buys for people who can't make the auctions. She thinks she's so high and mighty, strutting around with that Bluetooth in her ear like she's some high-paid rep at a fancy art auction house.”

From the way Buck chuckled, I got the feeling he agreed with Ina about Linda. “The scuttlebutt is,” he added, “Mazie and Linda are looking to partner up and expand Mazie's stores into a good-size chain.”

“And Mazie is the short African American woman with the visor?” I asked to confirm.

Ina sneered. “Yeah, Mazie's the gnarled little gnome. The tall black woman was Dionne Hudsinger, Ted's wife. She's pretty nice most of the time. Mazie's the dumpy mailbox without legs.”

Being short and stout myself, I bristled inside at the comment, but kept my personal feelings under wraps. “I remember her. She was bidding on the first locker right along with everyone else, even in competition with Linda. Why would she do that if she's supposed to be in partnership with Linda?”

Ina looked away while Buck answered, “Linda was probably bidding today for one of her clients. As I said, their partnership is rumor, not necessarily fact.”

Ina nudged Buck with an elbow. “Guess Mazie didn't leave. There she is now.”

Our eyes turned to watch Mazie Moore coming out of the Elite Storage office. She'd removed her visor and was slowly making her way down the few short steps to the pavement.

Okay, I'm short and fat, but even without standing next to her I could tell Mazie Moore's mahogany head was several inches below mine, putting her well under five feet. Ina's mailbox comment wasn't too far off the mark. Mazie wasn't just short; she was as wide as she was tall, almost literally, reminding me of a brown mini-fridge.

As soon as Mazie descended the stairs, I saw Kim Pawlak signal to Renee, who left her seat and climbed the stairs. I also noted that Kim had brought out a few other folding chairs. Mazie moved one of them off to the side by itself and plunked down in it to await her turn for questioning. After making sure Buck could stay with Ina, I scooted over to where my mother sat on the folding chair.

“Where did Renee go?”

“Bathroom breaks,” Mom answered. “Seems they only have one on the premises, and it's unisex. I'm next in line.”

I sat down on Renee's chair and leaned toward my mother. “Have the police spoken to you yet?”

“They took my name and Renee's and our information. I gave them your home phone. I hope you don't mind? Couldn't see what good it would be giving them my number in New Hampshire when I'm out here.”

“Of course that's fine, but they will also want your home number in case they have questions after you leave. Murder investigations can take a long time.”

“I also gave them my cell phone number.”

Feeling more settled, I noticed Mom watching the crowd like a hawk. I discreetly pointed to Mazie. “Have you had a chance to chat with that woman yet?”

Mom tore her eyes away from the crowd and looked at me funny. “Why would I?”

“I don't know.” I shrugged. “Maybe out of curiosity. You know, chitchat to pass the time.”

After consideration, Mom shook an index finger in my direction. “You don't fool me, missy. Those cogs in that head of yours are already working this as if it's a case to be solved.”

“It
is
a case to be solved, and it involves someone we know. What would have happened if I hadn't stuck my nose into things back in Massachusetts?”

Mom turned away from me. “I would have been fine,” she sniffed. “They knew I didn't kill that man.” Mom went back to watching the crowd, and we slipped into a loud silence until she said, “That woman—the one you pointed out. Ina doesn't like her much.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Didn't need to,” Mom explained. “I could tell by the way they eyed each other during the auctions. It's not the same hatred she has for that other woman—you know, the cheap blond.” I nodded to let her know I knew who she meant. “But Ina doesn't like her, and that woman doesn't like Ina. Maybe it's just a competitive thing, but I don't think so. Ina's in competition with a lot of these people, but I didn't get the same feeling between her and the others.”

“What about that man over there?” I tried to indicate Buck Goodwin without being obvious. He was still standing guard over Ina.

Mom squinted at Buck almost a full minute before answering. I watched her profile as she concentrated. Although I had my dad's eyes and short, stocky build, I clearly had my mother's other features. If I lost weight and my face became less roly-poly, it would almost be like looking in the mirror, minus the silver hair. Greg had pointed this out when Mom first arrived, but I had failed to see it until now, or maybe I didn't want to admit it. He had also claimed Mom and I were a lot alike in other ways—he almost ended up sleeping on the sofa for that remark.

“Could be he's making an advance on her,” Mom said, making her diagnosis. “A young widow might be easy pickings for a guy like him. If he provides a shoulder to cry on now, it might pay off later.”

I looked at my mother with unabashed surprise.

“What?” she snorted. “When you're retired, you read and watch a lot of TV. Wouldn't be the first time a man showed a grieving woman support to get into her panties. It's a common theme.” She looked back over at Ina and Buck. “Or maybe he's just being a comforting friend. Hard to tell.” Mom turned to me. “He was taking pictures of the body. I made him stop.”

“I saw you. Good job.”

My mother gave me a small smile. My mother didn't smile often. Usually her lips were set in a concrete slash of disappointment and disapproval, but here she was, giving me a small, tight-lipped ooze of happiness. I was suddenly ashamed of my reluctance in having her extend her stay.

“So.” The word came out of Mom's mouth alone and without any indication if it was a question or a declaration. The hint of smile was gone as she eyed me with expectation.

“So, what?”

Mom peered at me over the top of her glasses and remained silent. I squirmed in my seat. It didn't matter that until recently we hadn't seen each other for over three decades or that she was getting up in years; she was still my mother, and, as such, she had some sort of magical bullshit detector. It made me wonder if she had the same power over Clark. I was relieved when Renee joined us. It not only diluted some of Mom's voodoo spell, but I wouldn't have to give the update twice.