Skating Around The Law (14 page)

Pop frowned. “Why? That ain't the way real detectives do things. Real detectives are always sneaky. That's how they get the information they need.”

“I'm a mortgage broker, Pop, not a detective.” Actually I wasn't sure what I was, considering I might have lost my job. Still, Sherlock Holmes I wasn't.

Keeping that in mind, I got out of my car and hit the sidewalk, with my grandfather grumbling behind me. We walked through the front door, and my heart stopped. Eleanor was lounging against the counter with a rose between her teeth. Tonight her ample body was wedged into black leather pants and a matching satin corset. With a whip and a couple of handcuffs Eleanor would be a front-runner in the Miss Dominatrix of Illinois pageant.

The minute she spotted me, Eleanor gave a tiny squeak and dashed behind the counter as if that were going to make me forget her striking ensemble. Or the fact she still had a rose dangling from her lips.

I nudged Pop. He took a step forward and said, “Hi, Eleanor. Rebecca gave me a ride over.”

The flower fell out of Eleanor's mouth. Now her face and the top of her large bosom were both the color of an eggplant. I felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting her plans. Pop might not have been looking forward to tonight, but clearly Eleanor was.

Flashing an apologetic smile, I said, “I didn't mean to interrupt your evening, but I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions. I promise to make it quick.”

Eleanor swallowed and sat down hard in the chair behind the desk. “What do you want to ask?” Her voice sounded thin and strained with worry, as though she thought I was going to grill her on her sex life. Not in this lifetime. I figured Pop could take care of that all by himself.

I explained, “I've been trying to help the sheriff solve Mack Murphy's murder. I have a few leads, but I really need to know what drug Doc found in Mack's system, and I thought maybe you could tell me. Then I can track down the person who gave it to Mack and the case will be solved. This town shouldn't have to live in fear.”

Eleanor's eyes went wide, and her hands clenched together. For a second I thought she was going to deck me. Instead Eleanor threw back her head, and her robust laughter filled the room. Wiping tears from her eyes, she said, “Is that all?” Still chuckling, she reached into a stack of files and plucked one out. She started to hand it to me, then pulled it back. “You know, I'm not supposed to give this information to you. It could get me in big trouble.”

“Come on, Eleanor.” Pop sauntered over to the counter. His smile grew wide and a trifle naughty. “The sooner we get rid of Rebecca, the sooner we can get started on…you know.” He winked, and Eleanor giggled and fluttered her eyelashes.

Kill me now, I thought, before they start talking in detail. I wasn't old enough to hear that kind of thing. No one was.

Eleanor's eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a big smile. “How about I tell your grandfather the name of the drug after our date tonight?” She winked, closed her eyes, and leaned over the counter, offering her lips for a kiss.

I backed away while shooting a panicked look at my grandfather. Pimping Pop was not on my agenda.

Pop waved a wrinkled hand toward the door with an exaggerated sigh. He was choosing to stay, which meant I was out of here before I saw anything that would scar me for life.

Once out the door, I hit the pavement running. I arrived back at the rink emotionally damaged but one step closer to solving Mack's murder. Tomorrow I'd know the name of the drug. Then all I had to do was find the guy who gave it to Mack.

My eyes fluttered open
to sunlight streaming through the window. Today was Mack's funeral. I showered and put on a royal blue skirt with a tan leather blazer. Then I tiptoed out of the house before Pop had the chance to roll out of bed. Yes, I wanted the name of the drug, but I figured it was best to let Pop have some coffee before we did a face-to-face. Pop needed recovery time.

Outside, I admired Pop's front lawn. Last night I'd placed the garden gnome next to the Santa scarecrow. Now, in the daylight, the yard had taken on a warped fairy-tale quality.

I zipped my Civic over to the rink. After sucking down three cups of coffee, I headed for the bank to make the weekly deposit. Since I was downtown I did a few other business-related things. Strange, but I was better at handling rink business than I was at juggling the mortgages I dealt with in Chicago. My mother must have rubbed off on me when I wasn't looking. Good thing. I was determined to keep the place running and profitable until a new owner came along and my life could go back to normal.

I looked at my watch. Nine thirty. Mack's service started in half an hour. I drove my car over to the Lutheran church, where the service was going to be held. An investigator should have a good seat, right?

I planted myself in a back pew so I would have a good view of all the attendees as they filtered in. Not that I thought anything would happen at the funeral. Still, it couldn't hurt to be observant. Ten minutes later, mourners started to arrive. Doreen waved as she walked in with some other women. They were followed by Annette (who I was certain saw me, but didn't smile), Tom the high school football coach, Felix and Barbara Slaughter, Dr. and Mrs. Truman, and Mayor Poste and his wife. The whole town was getting a front-row view of Mack's send-off.

“Rebecca, what are you doing sitting all the way back here? You can't see any of the good stuff from the back.”

I turned to see Pop frowning at me. Pop was annoyed, probably more by his date last night than by my chosen seat.

“This is a good place for me to observe everyone. You don't have to sit with me if you don't want to.” It seemed like the polite thing to say even though I was dying to ask him if Eleanor had told him the name of the drug.

A man walking by nodded his head in acknowledgment. I did a double take before waving back. Zach was almost unrecognizable in a well-cut charcoal suit and a deep purple tie. There wasn't a speck of grease in sight. He took a seat in the very front row, the one reserved for family.

Pop tapped my shoulder. “Yeah, but what about Mack's body? You can't see that.”

I tore my eyes away from Zach's drooping shoulders. “I don't want to see Mack's body,” I said. After last Friday in the bathroom I'd seen more of Mack than I'd wanted to.

Pop's eyes widened. “I get it. You're doing surveillance.” He danced from foot to foot. “Scootch down. I'll help.”

I stayed right where I was. “Why don't you cover the front of the church? You'll be able to hear if someone says anything incriminating.”

My grandfather turned toward the front. His eyes narrowed. “I can do that. Oh, wait.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Here. Eleanor said that's what you wanted. I read it, but I've never heard of the drug. Must not have to do with kidneys. I've used every drug there is to keep my pipes flushed.”

Pop turned, put his chin down, and stalked down the aisle with his head darting from side to side. Pop was on the watch for danger in the pews of St. Mark's. He took a seat near Doc Truman. A few moments later, I saw his head slump. My lookout was asleep.

Heart palpitating, I unfolded the note and read the one word written on it.

Clomipramine.

I'd never heard of the drug either. Maybe the Internet would shed some light.

“Do you have room for me?”

Lionel peered down at me. I scooted over. He settled in and looked down at the paper in my hand. “What's that?”

“The name of the drug someone slipped Mack.”

“Really?”

Something in Lionel's tone made my Spidey sense tingle. “Yeah, why? Have you heard of this drug?”

Lionel crossed his arms. “Maybe. I don't know. Let me give it some thought.”

I wasn't buying the innocent routine. “I think you know something and you aren't telling me. That isn't fair.”

“Becky,” Lionel said with a half-smile, “life isn't fair.”

The organ started to play, cutting me off. Lionel leaned back in the pew, his forehead scrunched in concentration. He knew something. I was certain of it.

The service began taking my mind off the named but unknown drug. The pastor said some nice things about Mack. My throat tightened up. Doc Truman rose and read a Bible passage that made my eyes start to leak. By the time everyone was asked to sing “Amazing Grace,” I was in pretty bad shape.

I took deep breaths, but trying to calm myself just made me sob harder. I was having funeral flashbacks. The last one I attended was a year ago for Mom. Doc Truman did the reading then, too.

Lionel's arm crept around my shoulders. I leaned against him, and he hugged me tight to his chest. To my surprise the tears stopped. I breathed in the warm scent of spicy aftershave and barn animals. It was reassuring and surprisingly sexy.

Pulling away, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I gave Lionel a hint of a smile. “Thanks,” I whispered.

He looked embarrassed by my gratitude. He shifted in his seat and nodded toward the front of the church.

Amused, I turned my attention back to the service. Zach was taking his place behind the podium to give the eulogy. To my surprise, the poor guy broke down twice talking about how great Mack was. Zach talked about how Mack was seven years older and had helped coach his Little League team. Mack taught Zach how to hit a curveball, and that summer of baseball had ultimately led to a lifelong friendship.

I sniffled. Zach was going to miss Mack, a lot.

Ten minutes later, the service ended. I followed the procession of automobiles into the Falling Brook Cemetery parking lot. Then I found a spot at least twenty yards away from the burial to watch the proceedings. Seeing the open grave would turn the water-works on again. I wanted my vision clear for detective work. Besides, all redheads look blotchy when crying.

The ceremony was short, about five minutes. Tom, Zach, and Doc Truman putting flowers on the coffin was the signal it had ended. Then, in a loud voice, the pastor invited everyone to a complimentary luncheon at the Hunger Paynes Diner. That got most everyone moving toward the parking lot. I guess funerals make some people hungry. Not me. I waited for most of the cars to peal away. Then I walked up to the gravesite. Lionel was there waiting for me.

“How do you know Mack took clomipramine?” he asked as I stared at the grave. “Doc said he wouldn't release that information. How did you get it?”

I shrugged. “Pop seduced Doc's secretary.”

Lionel shook his head, but I don't think he was surprised. “Your idea?”

“Nope.” I studied the gravesite. My eyes latched onto something interesting. “Pop came up with it all on his own.”

“You could have said no.”

“I tried.” I stepped behind the grave and stooped next to a large object covered by a black plastic tarp. “It isn't easy to say no to Pop.”

“Eleanor must feel the same.”

I shot him a disgusted look. Then I pulled aside the tarp. On the ground in front of me was a beautiful green marble headstone with Mack's name and dates etched into it. Weird. Gravestones typically took weeks to arrive. Mack must have really planned ahead.

I peered up at Lionel. “Did Mack have burial insurance?”

“Burial insurance? Mack didn't have homeowners' insurance.” Lionel squatted next to me. He ran a hand along the edge of the headstone. “Mack was the kind of guy that lived one day at a time. He would have thought burial insurance was a waste of time.”

That's what I'd thought. So what was with the fancy headstone? After arranging Mom's funeral last year, I had become an expert on all things funeral including the cost of headstones. I was certain this one cost a fortune. Where did the money come from? No one during the service claimed to be Mack's relation. So who liked Mack enough to pay thousands of dollars to mark his burial site?

I stood up. Raising my eyebrow at Lionel, I asked, “Did you buy this?”

“I hate to say this, but buying Mack's headstone never occurred to me.” Lionel got up with a frown.

“And if it had?”

“I wouldn't have done it.” Lionel shrugged. “Mack would have thought that was a waste of good money.”

I understood where Lionel was coming from. My grandfather said that same thing last year when I'd insisted on a white marble headstone for my mother. She was buried on the other side of town in the Catholic cemetery. I'd wanted people who visited the cemetery to know she was important. Maybe Mack's mysterious benefactor felt the same way, or maybe someone was feeling guilty for killing him.

With nothing more to see, Lionel and I walked away from Mack's final resting place.

“Hey,” I said as we reached the parking lot. “What do you know about the drug that killed Mack? You acted strange after seeing the name.”

Lionel leaned forward. He gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. Then he climbed into his monster truck with me yelling the question at him again. Instead of answering, he started up the engine and drove away. Damn. He'd gotten away, but one thing was certain. Lionel really did know something, and I needed to know what that something was.

By the time I arrived, the diner was jammed with people. Diane must have been in school, because Mabel Pezzopayne and a woman I didn't recognize were busy taking orders and pouring coffee.

I commandeered a seat at the far end of the counter and scanned the room. None of Mack's poker buddies were here. Annette was also absent. Not that the place could have fit many more mourners. It looked like everyone else in town had made time to eat for free. Again I wondered who cared about Mack enough to foot the bill.

Before I could pursue that thought, Mabel hustled over to my stool with her pen and pad.

I was about to order when a female voice across the room screeched, “How dare you accuse my granddaughter?”

Every head in the place turned. At a table in the back was my Realtor, Doreen. She was standing with her hands on her hips glaring down at the three older women sitting at her table. “I want you all to apologize this very minute. Or else.”

“Or else” hung in the air.

“Sit down, Doreen.” One of the three women waved at Doreen's chair.

Doreen wasn't listening. No, she danced from foot to foot looking like a boxer ready to knock someone out. “I want you to apologize, now. My Brittany wouldn't deface church property. She's a good girl.”

A loud snort from a woman at Doreen's table said this opinion wasn't universally shared. The snorting lady was dressed suspiciously like a leprechaun. Not a person with judgment I would trust.

“Look at the way your granddaughter dresses,” the green woman shouted up at Doreen. “She's a troublemaker, that one. I wouldn't be surprised one bit if we find out she was stealing from the church. That's what kids like her do.”

Quick as a flash Doreen grabbed the plate of chocolate mousse pie on the table and hurled it at the old lady. Sadly, Doreen wouldn't win any accuracy contests. The pie sailed by her target—splat—into the back of Mayor Poste's head.

Mayor Poste turned around. His fingers felt around the back of his head as he frowned. Doreen turned beet red and stammered, “I'm…so…sor…”

Before Doreen could get the last word out, a tomato slice smacked her right between the eyes. My eyes followed the tomato's trajectory to its source in time to see Mayor Poste's wife reloading. Now she was brandishing a pickle.

“Marion, put that down.” The mayor grabbed his wife's arm. The pickle went flying out of her hand. It landed with a splat on a ratted head of white hair three tables down. The woman shook the pickle off her head right onto the little boy sitting behind her.

“Eeeeoo.” The kid screamed and launched the pickle at his older sister seated across from him. She retaliated by spooning up her mashed potatoes. They went flying off to the left, smack into the face of Doreen's brightly hued friend. In between globs of mashed potatoes, her eyes narrowed at Doreen. The little boy laughed, his sister reloaded, and the green lady picked up her plate of biscuits and gravy and took aim.

I decided this was my cue to head for the exit. As the door swung shut behind me I heard the crashing sound of a breaking plate. That was followed by several primal screams.

Yep, definitely time to leave.

I zipped over to Pop's house and changed into a comfy pair of jeans and a bright turquoise T-shirt. As I was going out the kitchen door, Pop walked in. I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling a horrified laugh.

Pop looked like a refrigerator had thrown up on him. A streak of ketchup ran down his left cheek. Smears of meat loaf and mashed potatoes were ground into his black suit pants. What I guessed was melted ice cream decorated his shoulders. Still, it was the cherry wedged deep in his white wavy hair in tandem with the disgruntled look on Pop's face that made my shoulders lurch with laughter. Starving kids in Africa could feed off of Pop for a month.

“Did you win or lose?” I asked, my lips twitching.

He shrugged. “Hard to say.”

George was teaching a group lesson when I arrived at the rink. By four o'clock the place was teeming with kids. They were free from the confines of school and ready to race around like idiots. Thankfully we had a couple of high schoolers employed. They helped collect admissions and handed out skate rentals. That left me free to spin CDs in the booth.

I slid a
Best of Motown
CD into the changer and kicked my feet up as “My Girl” blasted over the loudspeakers. I was enjoying the music when I heard a knock on the booth window. Brittany and Diane stood on the other side of the glass waving.