Shay O'Hanlon Caper 04 - Chip Off the Ice Block Murder (19 page)

JT asked, “How do you know Hanssen is behind it?”

“I don’t have hard evidence,” Greg said. “But we didn’t have any trouble before he showed up.”

Coop said, “If you need help on the Internet front removing whatever Hanssen posted, give me a shout.” He pulled a rumpled business card from his pocket and handed it to Greg.

I said, “Coop’s pretty good at fixing that kind of thing. He’d probably be able to correct the problem in five minutes flat.”

JT said, “Thanks for taking the time to talk to us. Sorry to barge in.”

“Think nothing of it,” Roy said. “If you need me, Shay, I’m here for you. Any time.”

“Thanks, Roy.” For a moment, I wanted to give in to the concern in his voice. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Now the Leprechaun’s closed down … ”

“Closed? How come?” Roy cocked his head to one side, curiosity shadowing his features.

“I had to call a plumber in and—” My words hung in the air. I shot JT a quick look, realizing it might be best to keep my mouth shut. She gave me a nearly imperceptible head-shake. “—well, there are some complications.”

“Well, Shay, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whatever the problem is can be corrected soon.”

I gave Roy a quick half-hug, and Greg echoed his father’s sentiment as I submitted to another campaign clasp. Then Coop, JT, and I moved toward the door en masse.

“Shay,” Roy called.

I turned around.

“Let me know when you find out what’s going on with Pete, okay? And if there’s anything we can do … ”

“Thanks, Roy.” I took some small measure of comfort in his words. “It was good to see you, Greg. Good luck with everything.”

TWELVE

The ride back to
the Rabbit Hole went by quickly. We rehashed our chit-chat with Phil Hanssen and the subsequent visit with Roy and son. I was feeling a lot better after talking to Roy. Hanssen was bullshitting us, for reasons I didn’t understand.

I pulled up to the snow-mounded curb in front of the Hole and we trooped toward the entrance. There were icy spots on the sidewalk and I made a mental note to toss more salt out before someone pulled an Agnes and landed on their keister.

The chimes above the door jingled as we crossed into the cinnamon- and wood smoke-scented warmth of the café. Half of the circular café tables were empty, but the overstuffed chairs were occupied near cheerfully crackling flames in the fireplace. It was the lull before the evening storm.

Kate stood behind the cash register, her arms folded over her apron as she spoke with a customer. Today her hair was bright orange
and spiked in numerous points. She glanced up and her face
brightened. “Hey guys. Look. We have company.” She nodded at the woman standing before her.

The customer glanced over her shoulder and I realized it was Pam Pine, from Pam’s Pawhouse, where we boarded Dawg and Bogey.

“Hey, Pam!” I called with a wave.

Pam’s grin lit up her face. I was about to take another step toward her when something smacked me in the back and knocked me flat on my face. I hit the deck with a resounding
ooofff
and narrowly missed taking one of the metal café chairs with me. Before I could register the fact that I was suddenly up close and personal with the salt-stained floor, what felt like a bag of cement landed on top my back. Simultaneously, a wet nose snuffled my ear. It tickled. I let out a peal of laughter and tried to push myself up with ninety pounds of canine, most likely Dawg, along for the ride.

I’d managed to raise myself a few inches off the floor when another beast stuck his snout right into my eye and practically frenched my nostrils with a sloppy tongue.

Bogey.

My arms gave out and I hit the floor again, trying to fend off two slurpy tongues.

Behind me, JT laughed and half-heartedly called for the dogs, but they weren’t the least bit inclined to listen.

Finally Pam came to the rescue and dragged them off me.

I made it to my knees and wiped the prolific evidence of their adoration on the sleeve of my jacket. I shot JT a sideways glance. “Thanks for the assist there, love o’ my life.”

“Sorry,” JT said, valiantly trying to tamp down the snickers. “Wasn’t expecting that.” She reached down and gave me a hand up.

The front of my jacket was covered with white chunks of ice salt and dust, mixed with drool. I tried to brush it off.

Kate said, “Way to make an entrance, Shay.”

“Smartass.” I stuck my tongue out at her.

Coop said, “I think they’re happy to see you guys.”

Pam let go of the dogs, and Bogey lumbered over to JT, his tail flagging happily. Dawg wiggled his way back to me, doing the boxer kidney-bean bend-o-rama that always reminded me of a floppy fish just pulled from the water.

Dawg
wooed
in ecstatic glee, his wrinkly face scrunched up and his happy brown eyes locked on mine. I crouched down and put a hand on either side of his cheeks and gave him a good rub, his loose lips flopping wildly. With a smooch on top of his warm head, I released him, and he sidled over to JT for some more attention.

Bogey ambled to Coop for a pat and padded my way. He plopped his ass down and looked up with huge, soulful, bloodshot, bloodhound eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” I told him. “Kate, I need a you-know-what.”

She promptly handed me two bone-shaped, peanut butter dog biscuits she’d started making at home and stocking behind the counter for our four-legged guests. I dropped one into the yawing maw before me, and flipped one to Dawg, who caught it, crunched it once, and swallowed. Bogey was a little more refined in his mealtime manners; he chewed at least a couple of times before delivering the snack to his innards.

I opened my mouth, but before I had a chance to speak, a gorgeous blackish-tannish shepherd mix beelined for the counter, towing its person—a short, round, grinning woman I hadn’t seen before—right along behind him. The mutt looked to be maybe seventy or eighty pounds of happy pooch.

He skidded to a stop and golden brown eyes flicked first to Dawg, then to Bogey, then Kate. Even dogs could tell Kate was a foodie pushover.

“Oh ho, I know that look.” Kate dug in her Fido jar and extracted another bone. “Here you go, beautiful—” She glanced at the dog’s owner in question.

“Girl,” the owner supplied. “Anika.”

Kate wagged the bone in her hand. “May I?”

“She’ll love it,” Anika’s keeper said.

With a flick of her wrist, Kate tossed the treat to Anika, who snagged it mid-air. She sat on her haunches and daintily chewed the biscuit up. So that was what dog manners looked like.

Pam said, “Hello Anika, and Anika’s mom.”

The woman smiled widely and was about to make a comment when Rocky burst out of the back room. He had his usual blue plaid aviator hat pulled low on his head and wore a bright pink sweatshirt that said
I
♥
Tulip!
in big neon-yellow letters. He looked like a psychedelic acid trip without the drugs.

He flung himself into Coop’s arms. “Nick Coop! I have missed you so much!” He practically leaped from Coop to catch both me and
JT at the same time and repeated the hug process. “Shay O’Hanlon! JT Bordeaux! Did you know that the Mall of America has a Chapel of Love? Did you know over five thousand weddings have been performed there? Did you know that you, too, would be able to get hitched in ultimate holy matrimony and bliss if the state of Minnesota government allows same-sex marriage?”

Ten minutes later we were seated in Eddy’s living room. Dawg and Bogey had checked Anika out, and after a few sniffs in all the right places, the three of them wandered back over to the fire. Anika’s owner and Pam struck up a conversation about the services Pam offered, and it looked like Pam was about to gain a new client.

I missed our mutts but was happy that they were with Pam. In the past JT and I had worried if Dawg or Bogey saw us when they were vacationing at the Pawhouse because we didn’t want them to get sad and mopey when we parted. However, Pam told us the silly mutts were fine, and that meant she didn’t have to curb her Rabbit Hole caffeine habit while she was out dog walking. Good for us, good for Pam, good for the Rabbit Hole.

Eddy sat tucked into her recliner with her feet up and a fuzzy two-tone lemon-yellow afghan Tulip had made wrapped around her. Whichever crime drama our intrepid matriarch was currently addicted to was paused mid-action on her spanking new fifty-inch flat-screen TV.

Coop, Rocky, and JT were in the kitchen, busily raiding Eddy’s fridge. I had no idea how Coop and JT could manage another bite after the feeding frenzy we’d had at the Uptown Diner just a few hours before. God knows I had no room for anything else. Well, except maybe for some ice cream.

I sat on the couch, still half-stunned by Rocky’s marriage announcement. We hoped the tide was turning in favor of same-sex marriage in Minnesota, but up to now neither JT nor I had seriously considered our own potential hitching. We had a number of friends who were going to take advantage of new laws in other states, and I suppose deep down I figured we would too at some point. The thought of forever with one person wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it had been even six months ago. However, being less intimidated by the prospect of a lifetime together and being ready to go for it whole hog were two separate things. No question had been popped by either one of us, and my knee-jerk reaction was that it was okay with me. For now.

The honest truth of the matter was that I was head over heels for JT. I’d come a long way in being able to admit that. I couldn’t picture a future for me without her. So why was I bogged down by the thought of marrying the woman I loved?

It was best at this point to keep focused on the issue at hand, so I shoved thoughts of holy matrimony and bliss into the Revisit Another Time drawer in the file room that was my mind and proceeded to fill Eddy in about our chat with Hanssen and the follow-up with Roy Larson. I was in the middle of telling her about Dijon the Butler when JT wandered back into the living room with her mouth full and a container of Chocolate Cherry Chunk ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. Uh oh.

“Hey, Rizzoli,” Eddy said. “You stealing my ice cream?”

JT’s eyebrows rose and she mumbled, “Wizzoli?” through a mouthful of pink goo.

Eddy rolled her eyes. “Where you been, girl? Rizzoli. You know Rizzoli.”

JT swallowed the ice cream. “Um, no. I don’t.”

“
Rizzoli and Isles
, child. The show! You’re Rizzoli.”

I’d heard of the show but had never seen an episode. JT apparently hadn’t either. At our blank looks, Eddy slapped her thigh. “You two need a life. Angie Harmon ring a bell?”

I said, “Wasn’t she on one of the
Law and Order
shows?”

“That was quite awhile back, young lady. She’s on
Rizzoli and Isles
now, and she is hot with a cap-ee-tall H, even if I do say so myself. JT, you remind me of her. Your voice might not be quite as deep, your hair not quite as dark, and maybe you aren’t Italian. But damn, girl, you are almost a spittin’ image, minus those few things.” Eddy bobbed her head. “Yes-siree. And she’s a detective, too.”

I raked my eyes over JT. “Rizzoli. Hmm. Could grow on me.”

JT tossed a throw pillow at my head.

I opened my mouth and JT proceeded to shove a spoonful of ice cream into it, cutting off my snarky remark. I swallowed and was about to tell her to do it again when my cell rang. I pulled it out, and the caller ID displayed a number I didn’t recognize.

For a moment I thought about not answering, but then realized the call could be from my dad. “Hello?”

“Shay?” Not my father.

“Who is this?”

There was a pause that lasted a few beats too long before she said, “Lisa. Lisa Vecoli.”

Oh, great. Since I wasn’t one for simply hanging up on people, even if I didn’t trust them, I said warily, “Hi.”

The next pause lasted a few beats too long. Finally she said, “I wanted to see how things were going. You hear anything from your dad yet?”

The temptation to call her on it, to tell her I knew her dirty little secret was overwhelming.
You’re a cop and you’re only being nice so you can arrest my dad!
But if I did that, it would open up a whole new can of nightcrawlers that I had no time to deal with. It still burned my craw that she’d used me to try to get the dirt on my father.

Before I could think of some snappy comeback, someone beeped in. I pulled the cell from my ear to look at the display. It was another unknown number, and an excellent way to get rid of her. I said, “Lisa, hey. I’m sorry. I’ve got another call. I have to go.”

She started to say something, but I cut her off as I swapped lines.

“Hello?”

“Shay.” The low rumble of my father’s voice was unmistakable.

Oh my god. “Dad?”

JT had been about to stuff another bite of ice cream in my mouth. Instead she stuck the spoon in her own mouth and plopped down beside me so she could try to hear what was being said on the other end of the line.

Even Eddy was leaning so far over the edge of her recliner I was surprised she didn’t fall right out of it.

“Oh, kid, it’s good to hear your voice.” My father sounded like he was having a hard time catching his breath.

“It’s good to hear yours too. Where are you? Are you okay? What happened?”

“I can’t talk long, but I need to see you.”

“Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“Honey, I’m okay.” The weak tone of his voice sounded anything but okay.

JT tilted her head and rested it on mine as she tried to get closer to the phone.

I said, “Dad, the cops are looking for you.” My voice dropped into a whisper. “They think you killed someone.” I could hardly believe those words actually passed my lips.

There was silence on the other end.

“Dad?” Two more heartbeats went by. “Pop?”

A heavy sigh echoed through the receiver. “I’m here.” There was some background noise I couldn’t identify, and my dad whispered, “Can’t talk. Gotta go.”

“DAD! Wait. Please. Tell me where you are.”

“Honey, I have—”

“Pops. Please.” He could never turn down a request when I used that term of endearment. “I need to see you, too.”

I ached to look him in the eye when I asked him if he took out Chuck Schuler. I wanted to see his face when I asked him why a corpse was buried in his cellar. Why he’d been covered with blood when he’d come to. I flat out couldn’t wait another goddamned second to find out what in the hell was going on.

“Jesus Christ, Dad. Come on.”

There was a pained sigh on the other end of the phone. “Check your email in a half hour. If you don’t see anything, keep checking till you do.”

“You’re going to email me?” He had to be somewhere that had modern conveniences.

“No, I’m not. Someone else will. Pay attention. Nothing is what it seems.” There was more noise in the background, louder now. “Shay, honey, I love you. You’re a chip off the old block. We’re going to be okay.”

The phone went dead in my hand. I slowly pulled it away from my ear and stared at it, a lump rising in my throat. The one thing I hadn’t expected to hear from him shook me to the core. While I knew he loved me, he rarely verbalized it. That he did, now, under these circumstances, meant he was shaken. And that thought scared the crap out of me.

“Refresh it again,” Coop said. He burped quietly. He’d finished off Eddy’s leftover vegetarian tater tot hotdish, and polished off the carton of ice cream JT had been feeding me.

JT and Coop were seated on either side of me on the couch. Rocky had left to meet up with Tulip and walk her home from a balloon animal gig at some kid’s birthday party. I envied him his innocence and ability to take one moment at a time.