Skating Around The Law (7 page)

Peering in the envelope made me suck in my breath. The envelope was filled with one-hundred-dollar bills. Thirty of them. A quick inventory informed me that the other two envelopes contained the same amounts. Mack had nine thousand dollars under his mattress, and still he was taking deposits from people without intending to do the work. Why?

With a sigh of regret, I tucked the envelopes back under the mattress for safekeeping. A little extra cash would help cover my city apartment's rent while I worked to sell the rink. Still, I couldn't bring myself to take any. Karma had already kicked me in the ass. I didn't need to give it a reason to take another swipe.

Leaving financial temptation behind, I went down the hall. The next room was almost empty except for a few tables, a couple of rolls of packing tape, and a lot of cardboard boxes in a variety of sizes. Not much to find in there. I continued to the last door.

The first thing I noticed was how clean this room was. No wrappers or empty soda cans here. On the far side of the space, next to the window, was a large wooden desk with a laptop computer perched on it. I also saw a combination printer, fax machine, and copier. To my right was a wall of shelving filled with old toys, lunch boxes, comic books, and knickknacks. A little strange but completely dust-free. I appreciated that.

Sitting down at the desk, I put my finger on the start button of the laptop—then stopped. Did computers keep track of every time they were turned on? If they did, and the sheriff ever got out of the daffodils long enough to check this place out, he might wonder why Mack's computer had been used after Mack died. While the contents of the computer had me curious, looking wasn't worth the risk.

I contented myself with going through the desk drawers. Nothing. That left the contents of the desk shelves. I scanned the labels on Mack's CD cases. He had a few computer games, a couple of office programs, and one CD case labeled business. That looked promising. I slid the plastic case off the shelf and opened it. On top of the CD inside were a key and a slip of paper with a name and phone number scribbled on it.

I slipped the CD case and its contents into my purse and gave the room a final once-over. When nothing else jumped out at me, I headed down the hall to the stairway and into the kitchen.

Slipping out the kitchen's back door, I started down the flagstone path to a small gardener's shed. I didn't think it would be a den of clues, but I was here anyway. I poked my head in. Nothing in there but cobwebs and an old riding mower. Big surprise. Well, at least I'd found the CD and key. Who knows, maybe they would lead me to Mack's murderer. The only way to find out required a computer. It was time to head back to the rink.

I walked across the backyard and through the gate just in time to see an Indian Falls squad car pulling up right behind mine. Oh no, I thought. Busted.

“I thought I told you
to let me and the sheriff do our jobs.” Deputy Sean sauntered toward me with a scowl. “What do you think you're doing here, Rebecca?”

He leaned on my car. My shoulders tensed as his handcuffs banged against the passenger door. After a year I'd managed to keep the car unscratched, which was practically a miracle, living in Chicago. Getting the first ding from Deputy Pompous would be seriously depressing. Deputy Sean grinned at me and added, “You know, you should be careful. Sniffing around out here might get you more than a little graffiti on your front door.”

I stood up straight. That sounded like a threat, and I didn't like threats. Of course, angering the cops after just breaking into a murder victim's house was not exactly my brightest idea. Sean could make trouble for me, and I already had enough of that. I needed to make nice.

“I'm sorry,” I cooed, batting my eyelashes. “After finding Mack's body and getting that message on the rink door, I'm a little edgy. You're a cop, which means nothing frightens you, but I'm scared.”
Of staying in Indian Falls for the rest of my life,
I finished the sentence in my head. Taking a step forward, I gave Sean what I hoped was a pleading look. “I know you don't need my help, but I couldn't stop myself from coming out here. Sitting around doing nothing would drive me crazy.”

Sean's angry frown eased into a toothpaste commercial smile. “I'll let it go this once. You've had a rough time, but make sure you steer clear of our investigation from now on.” He put a hand on his holster. “Don't you worry, Rebecca. We're going to break this case wide open before you know it.”

I managed to thank him and get to my car without laughing. Sean had sounded like he'd been reciting lines from a bad action flick. I turned the key in the ignition and noticed Sean watching me. I drove off with a small wave, hoping he didn't dust the house for prints. Mine would be everywhere. Somehow I didn't think Deputy Holmes would let me out of that one with only a Clint Eastwood monologue as punishment.

The Village People echoed through the rink as I walked through the door. Kids skated round and round singing “YMCA” at the top of their lungs. It was the same thing I did at their age. Scary, I thought, some things never change.

Slipping into my office, I pulled Mack's BUSINESS disk out of my purse and slid it into the computer. While the computer was booting up, I examined the key that had been hidden inside the case. It had a square top and a faded number etched in that could be the number seventeen…maybe. Besides that, it looked like a plain old key that could fit any number of locks.

The menu for Mack's disk appeared on my computer screen. The disk contained a total of three files. I clicked on the first one, and a spreadsheet appeared.

From what I could tell, it documented Mack's handyman business, organized by month and year. I scrolled down to a year ago. There was my mother's name, a list of the jobs he'd been hired to do, the dates on which he'd contracted them, the dates on which he'd completed them, and then the dates on which he'd been paid. I scrolled back up and found Annette's name. Mack had entered the money received and the date contracted but no completion date. Seven other incomplete jobs—all with money received—gave me more suspects. I scribbled down the names of the customers and clicked on the next file.

It contained a letter, and not a very polite one at that. Mack was demanding fifty thousand dollars in exchange for…something. What, I had no idea. The letter was dated three weeks ago, but there was no addressee named at the top. Something told me extortion was a better motive for murder than unfinished work. Maybe Mack had information on someone. Maybe Annette? That my mother's best friend could be involved seemed unrealistic, or maybe I was just engaging in wishful thinking. I clicked on the next file, hoping for a clue to the letter's recipient.

Another spreadsheet, only I couldn't make heads or tails of this one. The first column contained a letter followed by several numbers. The next was date received, followed by date shipped. A dollar amount appeared at the end of each row. Mack didn't provide an explanation of the codes he'd used, so they could mean anything. Nowhere did I find mention of the key I had in my hand.

I was at a dead end with the CD. I grabbed the paper with the scribbled name and number. Theodore Bosikus. Never heard of the guy, but the area code was familiar. It was a Chicago number. I decided to let my fingers do the walking. The mysterious Theodore answered on the first ring.

“Bosikus Investments, Theodore speaking. How can I help you?”

Investments? A guy who hid nine grand under his mattress didn't seem like the type, but what did I know? Doing my best impression of a serious professional, I answered, “Hello. My name is Rebecca Robbins. Mack Murphy recommended your company and gave me your number.” Okay, technically Mack didn't give me the number, but I figured Theodore didn't need to know that.

“Murphy? One second.” I heard some typing on the other end, and the voice returned. “Oh sure, Mackenzie Murphy. I talked to him a couple of weeks back. He wanted to know my thoughts on markets and stocks. You know, I got to admit I'm surprised he recommended me. At the time we spoke, he didn't have the minimum amount I require to invest.”

“He didn't tell me that.” At last a moment of truth. “He did say you knew a lot of about stocks and how to get the most out of an investment.” That quickly, my brush with truth vanished.

I could hear Theodore preening on the other end of the line. “I do. Although I must admit my strategy is riskier than that of a lot of investors. That made Mack nervous. Me and my clients like going for the big payoffs. The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward—that's my motto. Why don't I get some of your information, then we can talk about your investment options.”

My mind whirled. Something was strange about this whole thing. Theodore was way too chatty about Mack's business for my taste. His runaway mouth was good for a beginner detective like me but bad as far as professional ethics went.

I wasn't sure I wanted him to know any of my personal information. I said, “Can I call you back, Theodore? I'm at work, and my other line is ringing.” Ring. Ring. “I'll talk to you soon.”

Dropping the receiver back in the cradle, I said a small prayer that he didn't have caller ID and leaned back to consider what I'd learned. Besides the fact Mack's real name was Mackenzie, not much. Theodore's company couldn't be the source of Mack's financial need. Mack hadn't invested yet, which I considered a smart move on his part. Big risks might lead to big payoffs, but they also led to big debts. I saw that a lot in my line of work. Mack's mattress retirement plan was a much better option.

“Ms. Robbins?”

I turned to see Doreen's granddaughter hovering in the office doorway, wearing white shorts and a blue T-shirt. Without the goth attire, Brittany almost looked like a normal Indian Falls teenager. If there was such a thing. “Did you need something, Brittany?” I asked.

Brittany took a hesitant step into the office. “I was just wondering how you were after everything that happened. You know…” Her voice trailed off.

“I'm fine, Brittany. Thanks for asking.”

Brittany took another creeping step forward. “No problem.” She nibbled on a lock of hair. “My grandmother said someone like you wouldn't be freaked.”

I blinked. “What does ‘someone like me' mean?” I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like the answer.

Brittany took a seat in the chair across from my desk and shrugged. “My grandmother said people get murdered in the city all the time. She said you're a city person now. That's why seeing a dead body wouldn't upset you.”

Shaking my head, I got up and walked around the desk. Apparently, there were a few misconceptions I had to clear up. “Just because I live in the city doesn't mean I stumble over dead bodies when I walk down the street.” If I did, I wouldn't bother to pack. I'd just get the hell out of Dodge.

I leaned forward. “Between you and me, finding Mack in the bathroom really bothered me. I think it would bother anyone.”

Brittany's lip trembled. She clutched her hands in her lap. Finally, I understood the problem. I had been doing my best to avoid dealing with my feelings about finding a dead body. Keeping busy solving the crime helped me ignore my emotions during the day. I was a big fan of denial, but Brittany was upset and needed someone to talk to. I was guessing that Doreen wasn't the type to listen. From what I'd seen, the woman's mouth was perpetually switched to the on position.

Perching on the edge of the desk, I asked, “How have you been doing?”

Brittany sniffled. “Fine.”

Sure. Like I believed that. “Not being fine is okay, too,” I told her. “In fact, I'd be worried if you weren't upset.”

Her eyebrows raised into her hairline. Quietly she said, “My grandmother said I should pretend it never happened.”

Forgetting the image of Mack's head stuffed in a toilet was impossible without a lobotomy. Doreen was nuts.

I shook my head. “That's great if it works for her, but I'll never forget.”

“Finding him like that really scared me,” Brittany admitted, her eyes wide with fear and teenaged fascination. “My friends thought it was cool, but I didn't want to say too much to them. And my grandmother won't talk about it with me.”

I smiled. “You can always talk to me. I might not have a lot of answers, but I'm pretty good at listening.”

“Thanks, Ms. Robbins.” Brittany got to her feet.

“My friends call me Rebecca.” Ms. Robbins made me sound old. Brittany smiled back and headed for the door to join her friends. That left me alone to continue staring at Mack's mysterious key.

After a few minutes I got bored with waiting for a psychic message from Mack to point me in the right direction. Sighing, I picked up the phone and called Annette. No answer. I'd have to track her down tomorrow and clear up the matter of her letter to Mack.

 

Monday morning I blinked as my alarm went off. The rink was closed on Mondays, so I hit snooze on my alarm clock and pulled the covers over my head. My eyes opened again at eleven, and I stared at the ceiling while contemplating remaining in bed the entire day.

Nope. I was awake.

I padded to the bathroom for a quick shower. Damp hair pulled into a ponytail, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, I made it to the kitchen as the clock's hands clicked to twelve noon.

Rummaging through the refrigerator, I discovered a major problem. There was no food. With Mack's murder investigation taking up all my free time, I had neglected to go to the supermarket, and Pop's love life must have been too exciting this weekend to do a mundane task like grocery shopping. It was time to remedy the problem.

Slaughter's Market was located in the center of town next to Annette's salon. The store had been around as long as I could remember. Rumor had it that Felix only opened the market to get away from his father's farm and his family. Funny thing was, most of the produce came from his relatives' farmland, which meant no matter how hard Felix worked, he never quite got away from them. A good commentary on families in general, I thought.

I walked through the front door and began my trek up and down the aisles. From across the produce department, I spotted Sean Holmes squeezing tomatoes. I ducked into the cereal aisle before he noticed me. Picking up speed, I steered my cart around a corner. Bang!

“I knew you'd run into me again, but I didn't think it would be this soon.”

I looked up into the green eyes of Lionel Franklin and sighed.

Why me?