Cozy Up to Death

by Colin Conway

  His quiet contemplations were interrupted by the sound of a woman yelling, “Oh,” from behind him. Even before he turned around, he heard heavy breathing and the sounds of physical exertion.

  Constable Emery Farnsworth slammed on the brakes of his bicycle, skidding its rear tire outward in a half-moon arc toward Brody’s feet. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of cycling glasses. His face was red from exertion.

  Brody stood still with his eyes locked onto the Pleasant Valley cop. When the bicycle’s rear tire lightly touched his foot, he playfully said, “Ouch.”

  Farnsworth’s lip curled, and he said, “There’s more where that came from.”

  “Really?” Brody said, grabbing the handlebars of the bike.

  The officer tried to yank the bike free from the big man’s grasp but was unable.

  “Let go,” Farnsworth commanded.

  “You hit me with your bike. I think you should fill out an accident report. Maybe call the chief.”

  At the mention of his boss, Farnsworth stopped tugging on the handlebars. “Hey, now. Is that really necessary?”

  “What would he say about your threat of brutality?”

  “I didn’t threaten you.”

  “You said there’s more where that came from. That’s an implied threat. I would know. I’ve said that sort of thing, too.”

  Farnsworth looked away.

  “Is this about Daphne?” Brody asked.

  “No,” Farnsworth muttered.

  “Did you just see us outside the grocery store?”

  The officer turned back to Brody and removed his sunglasses in a snatching motion. His eyes burned with anger, but he kept his comments to himself.

  Brody stared at the bicycle cop. He was perfectly suited for Pleasant Valley. If Farnsworth were a policeman anywhere else, he would have been eaten alive within his first ten minutes on the street. He let go of the bike.

  “I’m sorry about Daphne, Emery, but she’s not your girlfriend anymore.”

  The officer’s eyes lowered to the ground.

  “There’s got to be other girls in this town for you to go out with.”

  “Not like Daphne.”

  Brody couldn’t argue that.

  Farnsworth wiggled the handlebars back and forth. He mumbled, “You might have messed up my alignment.”

  “Can I ask you a police question?”

  The officer smirked for a second, then relaxed his lips and nodded. “Ayuh,” he softly said.

  “Alice Walker.”

  “What about her?”

  “When she went missing, did you report it to anyone?”

  “She’s not missing though. You bought the business from her.”

  Brody snapped his fingers. “Right. But before I bought it, when everyone first thought she was missing, people came to you asking about her disappearance.”

  “Ayuh, many people did.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I checked the store, and I went into her apartment.”

  “You went inside?”

  “Ayuh, she didn’t keep it locked.”

  “Huh.”

  “She wasn’t there, so I filed a missing person’s report.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “We’ve nevah had anyone go missing before, and no one was asking us to do more.”

  Brody crossed his arms, lost in thought.

  “But everything worked out okay. Alice turned up and sold her business.”

  He studied the cop. “That’s right, Emery. Everything turned out okay.”

  “You’re not going to tell the chief about this, right?”

  Brody shook his head. “No, we’re cool.”

  Farnsworth slipped his sunglasses back on then lifted the front of his bicycle around the big man. “I need to get my alignment checked,” he muttered.

  The officer climbed onto his bike and slowly pedaled away.

  Chapter 23

  Brody had just finished a phone call when Donna Columbo entered the store and paused at the entry. Her right hand held the front door open, and her left hand rested on her hip. She wore a black blouse that was unbuttoned dangerously low, bright pink shorts, and black high heels. Her platinum hair was piled on top of her head. Slung over her shoulder was a giant Louis Vuitton purse.

  “You’re letting the humidity in,” Brody said.

  She stood there a couple of seconds longer, like a bratty teenager refusing to be told what to do. Reluctantly, she stepped inside and released the door, letting it slowly close behind her. The bell once again chimed its warning.

  Donna stalked around to the counter and cocked a hip. “Well?” she said seductively.

  “Well, what?”

  “Ain’t ya gonna say I look nice?”

  She looked like a walking, talking slab of Neapolitan ice cream. In his former life, he would have said she looked good enough to eat in hopes that it led to someplace dangerous. But with thoughts of Daphne and socially acceptable relationships creeping into his dreams, he kept that inappropriate comment to himself. Besides, he didn’t want to encourage the wife of a mob boss.

  “You look nice,” Brody said, his tone flat and noncommittal.

  “Damn straight, I look nice.”

  “Did you dress up to come to the bookstore?”

  “You wish. For your information, I look good every day.”

  Brody crossed his arms. “What can I do for you, Donna?”

  “Aww, you remembered my name,” she said, a smile playing across her lips.

  “And I remember your husband’s.”

  “Oh, him.”

  “Yeah, him.”

  Travis wandered out from the Noir aisle and sat in the middle of the floor, studying the visitor. Brody watched him, which caused Donna to turn and casually inspect the feline. When she again faced Brody, she said, “He doesn’t like you very much.”

  “Who? The cat?”

  “No, ya dingbat. My husband.”

  “He probably saw you making googly eyes at me at the restaurant.”

  “That’s not why. Jimmy was telling him how you was disrespectful and all.”

  “Jimmy? Is that the weightlifter?”

  “Yeah, Jimmy De Luca. We call him Jimmy the Pump because of how much time he spends in the gym.”

  “Jimmy the Pump? Gross.”

  “He’s sorta soft up here,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “Like he’s stuck in high school or somethin’.”

  “How was he after our fight?”

  “You two had a fight?” That information seemed to brighten Donna further. “Who won?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  She studied Brody’s face. “I’m going to guess you got the better end. You’re still handsome, and Jimmy ain’t much of a fightah. He’s built for intimidation.”

  Travis sneezed and ran a paw over his face.

  Donna turned and looked at the cat. “He’s sort of a weird fella, ain’t he?”

  “He grows on you.”

  “Ugh.” She faced Brody. “So, where do you live, sailah?”

  “Not around here.”

  Her smile faded. “Is it fah?”

  “I drive in every day. Hours each way.”

  Suspicion clouded her face. “Hmm.”

  “You going to buy a book, Donna?”

  Her face scrunched. “Uh, no.”

  “Then why did you stop by?”

  “I told you I’d be back, but clearly, you’re not buying what I’m selling.”

  “No, ma’am, I am not.”

  “It’s that woman you were with at the restaurant. Who is she?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “You bet it does. I want to know my competition. Is she your girlfriend?”

  “Maybe.”

  “We’re getting ready to leave this town, but when I come back, I’m gonna do something about that.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of somethin’.�
��

  Donna walked to the door then, pulled it open, and held it there. She turned around and watched the big man, not saying anything.

  “The humidity,” Brody said, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference.

  “I’m like the Canadian Mountaineers,” Donna announced, “I always get my man.”

  “That’s the Mounties,” he said, remembering the Dudley Do-Right cartoons he’d watched as a child at his grandmother’s. “And I don’t think that’s really their motto.” At least, that’s what his grandmother had told him.

  “What?” she said, scrunching her face.

  “It’s the Mounties,” he repeated. “Not the Mountaineers.”

  Donna rolled her eyes. “Just because you own a mystery bookstore doesn’t mean you know everything about genealogy.”

  She spun then, letting go of the door, and left in a huff.

  The bell rang as the door closed.

  He looked up from The Deep Blue Good-by when the brass bell dinged again. Brody was surprised to see the waiter from the Italian restaurant enter the store. When the two made eye contact, the older man rolled his lips inward and nodded politely.

  “Anything I can help you with?” It was a question clerks had asked him throughout the years. He felt funny saying it since he didn’t know anything about the store and knew even less about mystery books.

  The man shook his head and moved deeper into The Red Herring.

  Brody returned his attention to his book. A couple of times, he looked up to catch the older man peering in his direction. The waiter would hurriedly look away, embarrassed at being caught.

  When it happened for the third time, Brody put his paperback down and approached the man. “Is there something I can help you with, pops?” He wondered if he’d been sent to spy on him by Frankie Columbo.

  The older man appeared frail next to the much larger bookstore owner. He slowly said, “Looking for the books.”

  “The books? Which books?”

  The older man pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. On it was, in an obviously feminine handwriting, the name Raymond Chandler followed by several book titles: The Big Sleep, The Little Sister, and The Long Goodbye. Brody relaxed then. Chloe Columbo must have written these titles down for him.

  “You’re looking for these?”

  “Si.”

  Brody smiled and patted the older man’s shoulder. “All right, pops. Let’s see if we can find them.”

  The waiter nodded and followed Brody as they moved through the various aisles. They started in the Cozy aisle, walked through the Thriller row, and eventually found the titles in the one labeled Classics.

  “You’re in luck,” Brody said, pulling the three novels from a shelf. “These look to be the only Raymond Chandler books I have.”

  “Lucky,” the waiter agreed.

  Brody handed two of them to the older man but held on to The Big Sleep. He flipped it over and read the back of it. “Philip Marlowe, huh? These any good?”

  “Excuse?”

  “These books. Are they good?”

  The older man shrugged. “Do not know. Learn the English from reading.”

  “You read books to learn English?”

  “Si.”

  Brody handed the man the last Chandler novel and returned to the front. The older man followed him and put the books on the counter.

  “Anything else?” the big man asked.

  The waiter shook his head.

  Brody checked the back of the books and quickly announced a total. The older man pulled several bills from his pocket and handed him the exact amount. He slid the three novels from the counter, nodded politely, said “Arrivederci,” and left the store.

  He tucked the bills into the cash register, not because he knew what he was doing, but because it seemed like what he should be doing. For a moment, he wondered if he should learn how to order replacements for the Chandler novels. If those were the last ones, it probably meant they were popular among Pleasant Valley readers.

  Instead of learning how to place the order though, he returned to the Travis McGee adventure.

  Chapter 24

  He was on a knee in the True Crime aisle, retrieving several books that Travis had knocked over, when he smelled the aroma of the ocean. Brody paused and listened. He became aware of the change in humidity within the store.

  Someone had gotten inside without the little bell ringing. Quietly, he stacked the books on the nearest shelf. He snuck out the back of the aisle, hoping to surprise whoever was standing in the store.

  But there was no one.

  He reached up to stroke his beard, the one that he’d shaved off days ago. In a mixture of disappointment and frustration, his hand dropped to his side.

  When the store’s rear door clicked shut, his head snapped in its direction. He quickly moved down the back hallway.

  As he passed the restroom, he glanced in and confirmed no one was there.

  Next, Brody paused at the basement stairs and saw that they were still locked. No one could have gotten in from down there.

  He shoved the back door open, but there wasn’t anyone in the alley either.

  He glanced up the stairs to his apartment. No one was at his door, and he had locked it when he left in the morning.

  Maybe he was losing his mind, he thought.

  He looked up and down the alley a final time and pulled the door closed, securing it.

  As he returned to the front of the store, he smelled the ocean’s air and felt the humidity again. He reasoned it was because he had opened the back door. However, Brody tossed that line of thought aside when he saw Special Agent Max Ekleberry standing in the middle of his shop, a hard-sided briefcase in hand.

  “Were you just in here?” Brody asked.

  Ekleberry held a single finger to his lips. After placing the briefcase on the counter, he removed a device that resembled a small viewfinder. The agent held it to his eye and looked about the store. Slowly and carefully, he stepped into different locations of the shop, his eye scanning everything. When he finished, he returned to the counter. He carefully placed the piece of equipment into the hard case and next removed an item that bore a resemblance to a child’s walkie-talkie.

  The special agent then wandered about the store lifting the device over various surfaces and items. His eyes locked onto the readings of the little handheld device. After covering every inch of the store, Ekleberry returned to his briefcase. Brody started to say something, but the agent slowly shook his head and again raised a single finger to his lips.

  The lawman now traded the walkie-talkie device for a black wand, the size of a small flashlight. He retraced his steps, lifting his hand over every surface and item. When he was satisfied, he clicked off the wand and walked back to his briefcase.

  “Go ahead,” Ekleberry said. “Your store is clean.”

  “Were you just in here?”

  “I did a pass-through,” he said, packing away the little wand. “Then looped around the front to see if anyone had followed me.”

  “Were you?”

  Max shook his head.

  “Why are you worried about being followed?”

  “Onderdonk called and said he thought the mob was in town.”

  “He say anything else?”

  “He told me everything. I think he’s getting ahead of the mess of trouble that’s about to come his way.”

  “He told you about his missing witness?”

  “The woman? Alice Walker? Yeah, he filled me in.”

  “He’s using me as bait.”

  “I figured something was off when he sent you here.”

  Brody studied the man. He seemed genuine, but it was hard to tell with cops. They used lies to coerce confessions, which meant they had a built-in excuse for their untruths. Once that became ingrained into their belief system, cops often became better liars than the criminals they chased.

  “I figured if the mob had any idea that you were linked to the marshals and us, they
might be listening and watching, but you’re clean. We can go upstairs and check out your apartment if you want.”

  “In a minute.”

  Ekleberry leaned against the counter. “You called and left a message for me.”

  “I wanted to talk about Onderdonk, but it seems you two are already talking.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Beau.”

  “It’s Brody,” he said. “And I’m feeling like shark chum.”

  “That’s because you are.” There was no humor in Ekleberry’s statement. “I don’t like what Onderdonk did. It was a jerk move, but I can get you out of here. I’ll get you another witness inspector, and they’ll get you another town.”

  The agent’s words should have brought him relief. Initially, he didn’t want to be in this sleepy little town. He wanted to be where there was a vibrancy and things to do. But Pleasant Valley had snuck up on him. He knew a lot of it had to do with a particular bookkeeper at the local grocery store.

  “Not yet,” Brody said.

  Ekleberry tilted his head.

  “Let’s play this out.”

  “I can’t force you to leave, Beau. You’ve held up your end of our bargain, but this isn’t smart. If that truly is the mob and they find out you’re an informant, well, you can imagine where this goes.”

  “This is Pleasant Valley. What are they going to do? Shoot up the town?”

  The agent shrugged. “Who knows with these guys?”

  Brody set his jaw. “I’m staying. I don’t want to run. I like it here.”

  Ekleberry folded his arms. “Maybe you should tell me where this mob joint is and what you know.”

  Brody settled onto the stool behind the counter. “It’s called Il Cuoco Irato,” he began, and he proceeded to tell the agent everything he could remember.

  Chapter 25

  Carrie Fenton was an attractive woman in her late thirties. She wore a sleeveless white blouse with blue jean shorts and flip-flops. Tied on top of her head was a red bandana. A portion of her golden-brown hair slipped free in front of her forehead.