Skating Around The Law (18 page)

“Makes sense to me,” my grandfather interjected.

“Look, Neil,” I gave Pop a “stay out of it” look. “I'm not going to marry you. You're not my type.”

Neil's nostrils flared. “That cowboy from yesterday is?”

“You betcha.” Pop slapped the table. “My granddaughter has good taste. She gets it from me.” Pop wiggled his bushlike eyebrows at Annette. She rewarded him with a giggle.

I watched Neil's face fall. There was nothing sadder than a pouting guy in ugly plaid shorts.

“Neil,” I said in a consoling tone, “I think you'll be happier back in Chicago.”

Neil shook his head. “If there's one thing I learned in business, it's persistence. You're a smart woman. Pretty soon you'll realize that cowboy has nothing to offer and you'll come back to Chicago with me. Until then I think I'll have some cotton candy and enjoy the weather.”

“I love cotton candy,” Pop said. “Especially now that I don't have to worry about rotting my teeth. I'll go with you.”

Neil gave me a wink, and off they went in search of spun sugar. Shaking my head, I waved good-bye to Annette and took off at a power walk to the opposite side of the park. I wanted to get away from Neil's lecture on persistence, any reminder of my jobless state, and my growing concerns about Annette's involvement with this case. All three were more than a little unsettling.

Tom was easy to spot when I reached the baseball diamond. He was wearing an Indian Falls Varsity T-shirt and barking orders to some younger guys. By the dull-eyed look of them, I was guessing they were members of the high school football team.

Tom's eyes widened as he spotted me in my short shorts. I waved and sauntered over to where he was standing.

Doing my best Marilyn Monroe impression, I said, “Hi, Tom.” Tom's eyes dropped down to my chest, and I arched my back to give him a better look. His jaw went slack as I cooed, “I haven't seen you since poker night at Lionel's.”

He nodded. “I'm afraid I didn't make a good impression. I was a little out of it on that night.”

“Mack's death was hard on the whole town. I know the four of you guys were close. You had every reason to be upset.” I gave him a sympathetic pat on his arm, then left my hand there. Maybe my touch would distract him into saying something interesting. Tom wasn't a suspect, but he might have important information about Precious's medication—maybe a wayward fact that would clear Agnes of all wrongdoing.

“It's been hard,” he admitted as his shoulders slumped. “Mack was my best friend.” His hand covered mine.

I smiled sympathetically. “You've also had your Aunt Agnes to deal with. That must be hard, too.”

Tom pulled back. His eyes lost that glazed “I'm sad, but I want sex” look. “What did you hear about my aunt?” he demanded.

Time to go in for the kill.

With a vacuous smile I explained, “I heard you were related to Agnes Piraino. I know how hard it is to be responsible for an aging relative. Even if they're in good physical health, you never know when they'll forget to turn off the stove or lose their medication.” Or have sex with a dominatrix. “It's a big responsibility.”

Tom struck what I guessed was a masculine pose. Hands on hips, he blustered, “My aunt is a sweet lady. I love her, but she shouldn't be living on her own. Aunt Agnes has a number of serious mental problems.”

My fingers twitched. They really wanted to slap the guy silly, but that wouldn't help my fishing expedition.

Warming to the subject he said, “Thing is, Aunt Agnes doesn't want my help. I tried to find her a nice place in an assisted-living facility, but she won't leave those goddamn cats.” Tom's face grew serious. “If you visit my aunt, watch out for Precious. The cat is on serious medication, and Agnes sometimes forgets to give it to her. I was over there a week or two ago when she forgot. The minute I stepped inside, Precious went nuts. I had to get the pills from the kitchen and give them to Precious myself. I haven't wanted to go back since.”

Precious was pretty smart for a druggie. “Did you put the pills back?” I asked. This was what I was really interested in. Tom's eyes narrowed with suspicion, so I forced an empty-headed giggle while adding, “Your aunt has so many problems. I'm sure you put the pills back where you found them. Otherwise who knows what might happen the next time Precious needed her medication.”

Tom grinned. “Of course I did. That's just the kind of guy I am.”

A burly man approached and informed Tom that the game was starting. Tom gave me an apologetic smile. “I hate to go,” he said, “but duty calls. Maybe we could get together sometime and…talk?”

“Sure.” Not. A guy who wanted to lock away his aunt wasn't my idea of a dream date. Especially since he didn't appear to know anything useful.

Tom gave my shoulders a long squeeze before jogging to join the players in the baseball diamond.

“I didn't know you liked baseball.”

Lionel's voice echoed behind me. I didn't turn around. “I guess you don't know a lot of things about me,” I answered lightly.

“I've been thinking about that. We really don't know each other very well. The whole thing with your boss came as a pretty big surprise.” Lionel walked directly in front of my view of the field. “Maybe we should think about that before we tear each other's clothes off.”

I blinked. “I still have my clothes on, so it doesn't look like that's a problem.”

Lionel raised an eyebrow before leaning down and tilting my face up toward his. “It will be. You know it. That's why I was thinking the two of us should spend some time together. Get to know each other first.”

“Like a date?” I took a step back. A date implied the possibility of long-term interest. Unless Elwood was happy trotting down Michigan Avenue, I wasn't interested. Lionel's green eyes caught mine. My breathing sped up. Okay, maybe I was interested. Still, that didn't mean I was going to do something about it.

Lionel's smile grew wider. He moved closer until only an inch separated us. “Don't tell me going on a date with me scares you.”

I lifted my chin. “Of course not.”
Fibber,
my mind scolded.

“Good.” He hooked an arm around my shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “Why don't we spend the day together? We can see how it goes. I'll even spring for hot dogs and funnel cakes.”

Someone hit a home run, but I barely noticed. The promise of sticky, deep-fried dough had my attention.

“Okay,” I said. “You got yourself a deal.”

We strolled around the park eating hot dogs, drinking soda, and savoring a funnel cake slathered in strawberries and powdered sugar. Finally, after Lionel was asked by a couple of Indian Falls residents to look at overheating dogs, I got up the nerve to admit, “Annette just mentioned she goes to a psychiatrist.”

Lionel swiped some of my calorie-intensive food and shrugged, asking, “Does that bother you?”

I stopped walking. “No, but she also said she was taking medication for anxiety.” I waited for his reaction. He looked at me as though I were in need of a shrink myself, so I added, “When I searched Mack's place I found a note from Annette threatening him, and when I asked her about it she got really weird. The whole thing feels off.”

“You think Annette killed Mack?”

“I don't know,” I answered, feeling a little panicky. “Annette was my mother's best friend. She helped me get through Mom's death. I don't want to believe that she could kill someone. That's why I'm telling this to you.”

“You want me to tell you Annette didn't do it.”

I nodded.

“Okay,” Lionel agreed, stealing another piece of funnel cake. “Annette didn't do it. She's a good woman, and unless you find out she's taking clomipramine, I wouldn't worry about her being involved. Lots of people threatened Mack, including me. You don't think I killed him, do you?”

I shook my head no.

Lionel ate the last bit of funnel cake and tossed the sticky plate into the nearby trash can. Smiling, he took my hand and asked, “Speaking of Mack, how did your conversation with Agnes go yesterday?”

A lightbulb went on in my head. This was just like the picnic he set up. Lionel knew I had talked to Agnes, and he'd even spotted me talking to her nephew. The skunk asked me on a date to find out what I'd learned from them. Last time he tried to use liquor, and this time he bribed me with sugar. The man was a menace.

My eyes narrowed, and Lionel's smile disappeared. “What's wrong?”

“I want the truth,” I demanded. “Did you really want to go on a date today or did you just want to pump me for information about Agnes?”

Lionel's jaw clenched, and his face turned red. The man looked ready to blow. Instead he nodded and said, “Maybe you're right. I was curious about Agnes. I figured after you told me about Annette that you wouldn't mind talking about Agnes. I guess I was wrong about that and about this date. A guy would have to be nuts to want to date you.”

Before I could respond, Lionel turned and stalked away.

The date was over. If it was a date. I had to admit that the prospect of Lionel using my attraction to him to manipulate me hurt more than it should considering I didn't want a relationship.

Thoroughly depressed, I hugged my arms tight to my chest and looked around the park. There was Neil, watching me from under a large oak tree and wearing a lovesick smile. Frustrated, I turned and walked back toward the rink with Neil trailing behind me.

Oh goodie.

 

Neil was still following me the next day. Two minutes after I walked into the bakery, Neil moseyed through the door. I stopped at the diner, and again there was Neil. The self-declared persistent Neil was everywhere, and wow, was he hard to miss. He was wearing a pair of white jeans and a bright purple shirt with the collar open. John Travolta, eat your heart out.

At this moment, he was parked outside the rink, which meant I was locked in my office with a can of soda and the mail to keep me company.

There were bills, a credit card application, and two advertisements for stores ten miles away. The last envelope made me smile when I saw Jasmine's name on the return address. I pulled out the folded piece of paper, and something dropped to the floor.

I spotted a key on the ground and stooped down to pick it up. The key was gold with the number 174 etched into it.

By the time I got to the end of the letter, my head was spinning. The key was for the self-storage unit that Jasmine had rented for me. Now my things were sitting in a dusty, dark garage waiting for me to reclaim them.

It was official. I was homeless.

My stomach rolled. How had my life tanked so quickly? I'd come back to Indian Falls to sell the rink. Now I was jobless, homeless, and completely stumped on Mack's murder case. I didn't know who drugged Mack, if Annette took the same drug, where the missing money went, or what that damned key…

Wait. I snatched my storage key off the desk. Heart pumping, I opened my top desk drawer and flipped open Mack's CD case. Sitting inside was Mack's key.

Sure enough, the two keys were almost identical. Unless I was wrong, Mack had a storage unit somewhere, and inside might be a clue to who killed him. Now all I had to do was find it.

Booting up the office computer,
I did an Internet search for storage companies in the area. There were four within a twenty-mile radius. I grabbed my purse and rifled around inside. Aha! I came up with the gas receipt I'd found in Mack's truck. The town on the receipt matched one of the storage company's addresses. Bingo.

I grabbed Mack's key and headed for the door. It wasn't until I reached the front door that I remembered my problem.

Neil.

In my excitement I'd forgotten the matrimonial campaign he was waging outside my rink.

Damn.

Tiptoeing to the rink's front door, I peered outside. There was Neil's car, but no Neil. I craned my neck. Neil was standing at the corner having a chat with Danielle Martinez. Maybe she'd convince him I was a homicidal maniac.

I calculated the odds of getting to my car without being noticed. They weren't good. If Neil didn't see me, Danielle would. Either way I was screwed.

I considered my options. I dialed my grandfather, hoping he could pick me up at the back entrance. I'd have to bring him along on the storage locker search, but letting my grandfather play Sherlock Holmes was preferable to facing Neil.

Pop didn't answer.

Now what?

Annette was working, and I wasn't about to call Lionel. That left one option. I sent a text and hoped for the best. Brittany and Diane arrived at the rink's back door five minutes after classes were dismissed. Score one for technology.

“I need to track down a lead,” I explained. “Problem is, that man out front is following me, so I need you guys to tell him you saw me across town somewhere. That way he'll leave to chase after me, and I can slip away.”

They looked at each other and grinned.

Ten minutes later, I was cruising out of town, and Neil was scurrying after a figment of Diane and Brittany's imagination. Things were looking up.

I took two wrong turns, but at four o'clock I steered into Store-for-Less. The place reminded me of a one-story motel. A sign over one door read RENTAL OFFICE, while the other doors were marked with numbers. For a second I considered questioning the office staff, and just as quickly I discarded the idea. I would have to explain about Mack, and any conscientious staff member would then call the cops. Not the result I was looking for.

I looked at each numbered door, and my eyes latched on number seventeen. I marched over, slipped the key in the lock, and held my breath as I tried to turn it. Nothing. Jiggling the key, I tried turning it again. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I felt the key shift. Putting my not-so-toned arm muscles into it, I gave the key another turn and let out a triumphant cry as the door swung open. I held up my arms in victory, then felt inside the door for a light switch. Light flooded the garagelike space. I stepped inside, curious to see what Mack was hiding that might have gotten him killed.

Inside the unit was…Barbie dolls.

Barbie dolls sitting on a very large, sealed cardboard box. They weren't just any Barbie dolls, either. They were the ones stores displayed behind glass—Eliza Doolittle Barbie, Scarlett O'Hara Barbie, and several that looked like they might be original Barbies from the fifties. Each one was still in her box, and none looked as though it had ever been touched by human hands. Each was marked with a numbered Post-it, one through twelve.

Fascinated, I walked over to a box that wasn't taped shut and gave the flaps a pull. Inside were Strawberry Shortcake dolls from the eighties. All perfect in their boxes. Like the Barbies, each had a numbered Post-it note on the top. For a macho kind of guy, Mack sure had a lot of dolls, which was probably why he needed the storage locker. Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake were hard to explain to the boys on poker night.

Tearing open another box, I discovered Cabbage Patch Kids, also numbered. In the next were old
Star Wars
action figures. Mack's image was on the upswing as I came to the last box. I opened it expecting to find more pop culture toys. The lid flew open, and a jolt of surprise stopped my heart.

Inside the box was a glass case. Sitting in the case was a beautiful china doll like the three I'd seen in Regina Catalano's store.

 

I drove back to the rink pretty sure that the china doll now residing in my trunk belonged to Regina. Regina thought the doll was at a professional restorer. How Mack had gotten it was beyond me. Anthony had to be the man Diane saw eating with Mack in the diner. They had been discussing the doll. Anthony wanted it back, and Mack wasn't giving it up without a fight or a lot of money. Fifty thousand dollars, according to Mack's ransom letter.

Fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money for one of those dolls, but maybe not too much to keep your wife from catching you in a lie.

My Civic pulled into the rink parking lot, and I scanned the area. Neil's car was there, but not Neil. The girls must still have him chasing shadows.

Music was pumping when I entered the rink with my cargo from the trunk. I went directly to my office and locked the door behind me. Setting the doll's case on the floor, I took a seat at the desk.

Now what?

I tapped my fingers on the desk. I should call the cops and give them the doll and Mack's storage key. Then they would have to arrest Anthony Catalano. Problem was, they'd also have to arrest me. While I could probably justify entering the storage locker, explaining how I got that key might be a little harder. Breaking and entering wasn't a good résumé builder.

Besides, I didn't know if Anthony had actually committed a crime. He did have a motive, but Anthony didn't strike me as the “drug the guy and wait to see what happens” kind of person. He looked more like the “beat the dude to a bloody pulp” type. I decided to hold off on calling the authorities until I was certain I'd solved the case. With luck, the cops would be delighted with my discovery and baffled enough by Mack's strange fascination with girlie dolls to overlook my missteps.

Wait a minute. I slipped Mack's disk into the computer and selected the file with the letter demanding fifty grand. I printed the letter out, then moved on to the previously indecipherable spread sheet.

The first entry was listed under the letter
C.
The next column was the number fourteen, followed by a date and a price of seven hundred dollars. The spreadsheet was still confusing, but now that I'd seen the stuff in Mack's storage I was willing to bet money that the
C
stood for Cabbage Patch Kids. The number was probably the same one written on the Post-it note.

The next entry started with the letter
B.
Barbie? Since the number was three with a price of five hundred and fifty dollars, I decided I'd cracked the code.

The list was about one hundred lines long, most with two sets of dates, but the last few entries only had one. Mack was doing a brisk trade in dolls, and there was only one place I could figure he was doing it. I logged on to eBay. Sure enough, all the Barbies I'd seen boxed in Mack's storage unit were being auctioned. The seller was mmurphy23, and the bids were high enough to make my eyebrows raise. Wow, I thought. With all the toys in that unit, Mack was making a fortune. Who knew selling old toys could net enough to buy a small country?

Still, was an old toy reason enough to commit murder? Maybe the doll wasn't the only problem. Could be Anthony was Mack's partner in this and Mack was cutting Anthony out of the action. Mack didn't seem like the type to share a business, but after finding the Barbies I had to admit anything was possible.

There was only one person still living who had the answers.

I picked up the phone, and a tired Jersey voice came on the line. Anthony sounded like he hadn't slept in weeks.

“Hi. I don't know if you remember me, but you ran into me and my grandfather outside Mack Murphy's house.”

“I remember.” Anthony sounded awake now.

I took a deep breath and said, “I came across some unusual things of Mack's and thought you might be interested in them. One of them in particular. Can you meet me tonight to talk about it?”

He didn't hesitate. He also didn't waste words. “When and where?”

I asked Anthony to meet me at Papa Dominick's Italian restaurant in one hour. Then I hung up the phone and let out a whoosh of air. I had a date tonight—with a possible murderer.

I drove over to the edge of town where Papa Dom had been serving pasta and hot, crusty pizza since I was in high school. I was early, so I commandeered one of the two empty tables near the bar and ordered a Diet Coke and some calamari. I wasn't sure if I could eat. Still, the act of ordering made sitting in the restaurant seem more normal. When meeting a potential homicidal maniac, anything normal was good.

Dom himself brought out the golden calamari and told me in his thick accent how sorry he was about my mother's death. “She was a very nice-a lady,” he said. I nodded my thanks as Dom sighed and shuffled back to the kitchen.

I took a big sip of my soda and tried to swallow down the lump in my throat. Dom was right. Mom was a great woman. Somehow she'd made the whole town love her, which was a trick I hadn't mastered.

“Rebecca Robbins?”

I looked up. The voice had a New Jersey accent, and it didn't come with fried food. This one was stuffed into a charcoal gray suit, complete with an angry scowl.

“Yes.” The word barely squeaked out of my mouth. I nodded in case Anthony didn't speak mouse and gestured to the chair across from me. He sat down with a grunt.

Yikes. Seeing this guy on Mack's dark porch was scary, but in the light everything, including his neck, looked three times larger. This guy was a walking billboard for steroids.

“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” I said.

Another grunt. The guy was pithy.

Now that Anthony was seated across from me I doubted the brilliance of my plan, but I couldn't get up without him following me, and I definitely didn't want to be alone with him outside. I was stuck.

The waitress came over, startling me from my building terror. I ordered the eggplant Parmesan. No need to count calories when faced with a hit man, right? Anthony ordered a glass of white wine and the linguine with clam sauce.

We stared at each other across the table, and knots of tension formed in my shoulders. Quiet made me edgy. “So,” I said. “You and Mack were business partners?”

Anthony's eyes narrowed as he grunted again. Strange, but this time I wasn't intimidated—probably because he had a deep-fried tentacle he'd pilfered from my appetizer dangling from his lips. Not that I minded. As long as I stayed alive, the man could eat anything he wanted.

He nodded as he swallowed. “Not exactly.”

“What's that mean?” I asked.

“Let's just say the two of us shared a mutual interest.”

“Like an eBay account?” He looked at me blankly. “Did you guys run a company together based on online auctions?”

“Nope. Mack did that stuff all on his own.”

So much for that theory. That just left the doll. “How were you and Mack getting along in your mutual interest?”

Anthony's massive shoulders shrugged. “Not good. Mack and I had different ideas about how business should be conducted.”

I wondered if medicating his partners figured into Anthony's financial strategy. “I heard you fought with him at the diner.”

Anthony gave me a flat stare. “I don't like people poking into my business,” he growled.

“Well, I don't like dead people floating in my toilets.” I straightened my shoulders, trying to look confident even though I was sure everyone in the restaurant could hear my knees knocking. “Finding Mack's body in my rink gives me the right to ask a few questions, don't you think?”

He tilted his head and nodded. “You might be right.” The tone of his voice turned pleasant. “I apologize. This whole thing with Mack has me disturbed.”

I blinked, not knowing what to say to that. Heaping plates of food arrived, allowing me to regroup while Anthony sucked down his meal. The red sauce Dom had prepared smelled fabulous, but I couldn't eat while my stomach was churning.

When Anthony slowed his gastronomic assault, I peered up at him and said, “I think it's time for us to lay all our cards on the table.” Anthony nodded, so I continued. “From what I can tell, Mack's got something that belonged to you. He was willing to sell it back for fifty thousand dollars, but you didn't want to pay. How am I doing so far?”

Anthony pushed his plate to the side and placed his elbows on the table. “Do you know what Mack stole from me?”

“Would it be a turn-of-the-century china doll?”

“I'll be damned.” Anthony sat straight up. “He told you that?” I shook my head no, and Anthony slapped the table, making the silverware dance. “You're good, girlie. Now.” His eyes darted across the room, and his voice lowered to conspiracy level. “You wouldn't happen to know where the doll is, would you?”

I leaned forward, trying to look more in control of the situation than I felt. “Tell you what,” I whispered. “You tell me how you killed Mack and I'll tell you where the doll is.” Right after I called the cops and had him locked up for murder.

The space between Anthony's brows disappeared, and his mouth tensed into a tight line. When his eyes narrowed, my palms started to sweat. Either Anthony had indigestion or he was plotting ways to off me. My eyes darted toward the door.

Anthony's mouth twitched, and he began to chuckle. The chuckles evolved into a full-blown belly laugh.

“You think I knocked off Mack?” Anthony asked as his thick fingers wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.

I crossed my arms. “You had a motive.”

He took a sip of his wine. “Look,” he said. “I bought some things from Mack on eBay. He was always real reliable with payment and shipping. Mack had a good business going. He was a top-rated seller. Then one day I decided to try my hand at it. I put one of my wife's china dolls up for auction with a minimum selling price. Mack was interested in the doll, but he didn't bid the minimum amount. No one did, so I pulled it.”