Cozy Up to Death

by Colin Conway

  “The mob found him?”

  “No,” Carrie said. “Simple heart attack. The man had a horrible diet.”

  “There you go.”

  “Was there anything else you wanted to ask me, Brody?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve gotten more than I bargained for with that call.”

  Carrie closed her notebook and studied the big man. “I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship.”

  “We don’t have a relationship,” Brody said, his face stern.

  “Sure, we do,” Carrie said, a smile spreading across her face. “I’m your customer now.”

  With that, she turned and left the store.

  Chapter 26

  The inside of her house was an explosion of colors. Brody wasn’t sure he’d seen so many different hues in his life. One complete wall was painted in a variety of rectangles and squares, each a different color and separated by small white lines. The boxes were of various sizes.

  All the other walls were a different solid color. It made for an unsettling experience.

  He stared at the multi-colored wall for a moment, taking in the diversity of colored boxes.

  “It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” Daphne said.

  “It’s different,” Brody admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I started putting little samples on the wall to decide what color I wanted to paint it. Then I thought, why not do this?”

  “It reminds me of the bus on The Partridge Family,” Brody said.

  “The Partridge Family? What’s that?”

  As a child, Brody watched the sickly-sweet sitcom while visiting his grandmother. He liked the songs that the family sang and had a crush on Laurie Partridge. He had never met a nice girl like that until Daphne.

  “It was a television show from the early seventies. I used to watch the reruns of it whenever I visited my grandmother.”

  A white ceramic rhinoceros stood proudly on an end table. “What’s with the rhino?” Brody asked.

  “I thought it would be sort of cool to collect a whole zoo of these ceramic animals.”

  Brody lifted the heavy knickknack. It was larger than his hand, and the horn protruded several inches.

  “But, I only bought the rhinoceros then stopped.”

  “So you have a one-animal zoo,” he said.

  “Not very interesting, huh?”

  “Not true. I find it kind of cute.”

  Did I really just say ‘cute’? Brody thought. What’s happening to me?

  He carefully returned the rhino to the end table.

  A beeping from the kitchen caused Daphne to hurry away. Brody followed her and watched as she turned off a timer then opened the stove. She slipped on a couple of oven mitts and removed a casserole dish. Carefully, Daphne placed it on top of the stove. She also removed a loaf of French bread.

  On the nearby table, two place settings were arranged.

  “This is a spinach casserole,” Daphne said as she scooped a portion of the casserole onto a plate.

  “Spinach?” Brody asked.

  “Trust me, it’s good. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Her mother created it after a visit to San Francisco or thereabouts. Sometime in the thirties, I believe.”

  Brody lifted his plate and sniffed the odd-looking concoction.

  “She called it Joe’s Special. Some of the ladies in town have told me I make it wrong, that I should be using eggs, but I think it tastes fine as it is.”

  He watched her scoop a dollop of the casserole onto her plate. Then she cut a couple of pieces of bread for them.

  “I’m sure it’ll taste delicious.” He did his best to sound convincing. He’d eaten some horrible things in his life. He was sure he could gut this down without much problem. The important thing was to make sure he showed Daphne how much he liked the casserole.

  “This will sound weird,” she said, opening the refrigerator, “but the secret to this is adding some ketchup. My grandfather used to slather it on. It gives it a nice kick.”

  Brody liked ketchup. He had grown quite fond of it while in juvenile detention and prison. He put it on most foods now.

  In only a few moments, they were eating. The casserole was surprisingly good, especially with the added ketchup. It had been some time since Brody had a home-cooked meal. He ate faster than he expected, and when Brody finished, he looked up from a clean plate to see Daphne was only half-done with her meal. She smiled at him, pleased that he had eaten so much, so fast.

  “It was fantastic,” he said sheepishly. “What’s in it?”

  She made a strange face. “You really want to know?”

  “Ground beef, onions, and obviously spinach.” Over the next several minutes, Daphne explained how to make the dish. When she finished telling him the recipe, she asked, “Want some more?”

  “Definitely.”

  Daphne gave him another serving. This time Brody ate slower and enjoyed each bite.

  With a fork, Daphne pushed her remaining casserole around her plate. “Where did she live?”

  “Who?”

  “Your grandmother. You said you watched that show with her. The one with the bus.”

  “She lived in Sioux Falls.”

  “That’s Iowa, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How often did you go there?”

  “Whenever my mom had troubles.”

  “How often was that?”

  “Every summer. Mom didn’t want to spend three full months with me.”

  “That’s terrible,” Daphne said. Her fork hovered over her plate.

  “It’s okay. She wasn’t that good of a mom.”

  “But your grandmother...?”

  “She’s the best person in the world.”

  “Your face brightens when you talk about her.”

  “When I would visit her,” Brody said, “she made me feel special. Like I mattered. To my mom, I was a burden.”

  “Did you have a special name for your grandmother? I called mine Nana.”

  “Ma.”

  “Ma?”

  “That’s all anyone ever called her. Ma.”

  “What did you call your mom?”

  “Paula.”

  “Oh.”

  Brody shrugged.

  “What about brothers or sisters?”

  “None.”

  “Your dad?”

  “I never met him.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “It’s not so bad. From what my mom said, which wasn’t much, he was a swindler with a messiah complex. He didn’t stick around after she got knocked up. Ma refused to talk about him. Who knows how I would have turned out had he stayed?”

  “You turned out fine without him,” Daphne said. “Maybe it was for the best.”

  “Yeah,” Brody muttered. “For the best.”

  “Do you still talk to Paula?”

  “Haven’t heard from her in years.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I don’t know what else to say.”

  “It’s fine. Really. I stopped talking to her by the time I was in high school. We were essentially roommates then. We came to an uneasy agreement—I wouldn’t interfere in her life if she didn’t interfere with mine.”

  “And Ma?”

  “I spent my summers with her, but as I got older, it got harder on her. I was a bit of troublemaker.”

  “You? You don’t seem the type.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Would I?”

  “I was difficult for her. I was selfish.”

  “Isn’t that how kids are?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “What did she think about you joining the Navy?”

  Brody paused. He didn’t want to lie to Daphne any further. He wanted to tell her the truth, but he believed doing so would only lead to telling her everything. Then what would he do? And how would she react? Brody wasn’t willing to risk eve
rything at this moment. Besides, the truth could put her in jeopardy if anyone ever found out.

  “Enough about my past,” Brody said. “Let’s talk about Alice Walker.”

  “Did you talk with the people who sold you the business?”

  “I did.”

  “And.”

  “They’re going to get back to me.”

  “That’s something, right?”

  Brody nodded. “Have you ever met Carrie Fenton?” he asked.

  “The author? Of course. Alice had her at the store for a signing.”

  “What did you think of her?”

  “She was nice. I think she and Alice hit it off pretty well. Why do you ask?”

  “She stopped by looking for Alice.”

  “And?”

  “Carrie was... different. I got the feeling that she was only telling me part of the truth.”

  “You think she was lying about something?”

  “I’m not sure. It didn’t feel like she was lying to me exactly, but it didn’t feel like I was getting the whole truth either.”

  “Are you worried that you might have purchased the business under pretenses?”

  Brody paused, considering how to answer. “I bought it through an online attorney. Everything should be okay.”

  “But no one knows where Alice is. It’s all so... hinky.”

  “It has me concerned. I’ll admit that. I want to make sure she’s okay. Not only for you but so my being here is on the up and up.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Did Alice ever mention seeing anyone?”

  “You mean dating?”

  “Yes.”

  “She didn’t date anyone. Well, that’s not true. When I was little, she was involved with a man named Gil. After he passed, she never was with anyone again.”

  “One of the ladies in her knitting circle said she mentioned seeing a foreigner.”

  “A foreigner?” Daphne asked. “I doubt it. She could barely stand the New England accent. How would she tolerate someone from another country?”

  “People don’t just disappear,” Brody said. “And if they do, they’ve usually had help, whether they wanted it or not.”

  Daphne pondered his statement. “Maybe she rode off into the sunset. Like a cowboy in an old Western movie, but in a car, not on a horse. Why couldn’t she have done something like that?”

  Chapter 27

  After dinner, Brody walked past Il Cuoco Irato. The Open sign was off, and the front lights were dimmed. Frankie Columbo was seated in the corner booth. He had a laptop open and a cell phone to his ear. The old waiter was dutifully cleaning the last few tables.

  The big man watched for a few moments from a nearby tree. A boat’s horn sounded in the distance. He waited for a little while longer, then stepped into the shadows and headed toward the shore. As he walked, he had the eerie sense of being followed. It was the same feeling he got a couple of nights ago when Jimmy the Pump had tailed him. He wondered if the man was trailing him again.

  Brody stopped several times and stood still on the sidewalk. He turned around repeatedly, his eyes searching for anything moving in the darkness. Finally his unease faded, and he continued his journey toward the beach. He heard another horn sound. This time it was further out in the bay.

  At the beach, he found a shadowy area and waited. It didn’t take long, and a small single-engine boat arrived. The ship ran aground with two men aboard. One of the men tossed a large duffel bag onto the beach which thudded when it landed. The man then jumped to the sand himself. His shoes, with the laces tied together, hung around his neck. He turned around and pushed the boat back into deeper water.

  The figure walked through the sand until he reached the pathway. He sat and brushed off his feet. Then he put his socks and shoes on. The man wore black pants and a long dark shirt.

  When he stood, the man secured the duffel bag over his right shoulder, then casually strolled up Main Street. By his walk, a confident gait, it was clear he wasn’t concerned about being followed. He never looked back to see if anybody was near.

  The man whistled as he walked up to Second Street, hung a right, and went directly to the Italian restaurant. Brody shadowed him the entire way. By the time he made it to his previous hiding spot to watch inside Il Cuoco Irato, the man and his duffel bag were gone. Only Frankie Columbo remained, his eyes intently studying his laptop.

  Brody hid in the shadows for twenty minutes, watching Frankie the Dove until he decided it was time to go home. He slipped from the darkness and took the long way to The Red Herring. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been followed earlier.

  He could have gone around the back and into the alley, but he wanted to stop first and get his knitting kit. He was restless after dinner with Daphne and then seeing the shadowy figure with the duffel bag. A few minutes of knitting might help set his mind at ease.

  He opened the front door to the bookstore and immediately locked it behind him. When he stepped into the darkness of the lobby, he sensed the movement too late.

  It was too big and aggressive for the cat.

  Something hit him under the chin, causing him to stumble backward into Carrie Fenton’s book display. The cardboard tower collapsed under his weight. Brody clambered back to his feet as the shadow neared him.

  “Time for some payback, rat,” Jimmy the Pump said.

  Rat?

  The word still echoed in Brody’s head as Jimmy punched him in the stomach, forcing the wind out and doubling him over. The weightlifter grabbed him and threw him into the wiry book spinner.

  Brody landed on top of the device. Several of the book holders dug into his back. He grunted in pain and rolled to his hands and feet.

  Jimmy De Luca was quick, not giving the big man a moment to recover. He kicked Brody under the armpit. The pain was excruciating, and Brody tucked his elbow in tight to his side to limit further damage.

  As he stood, The Pump grabbed Brody by his other arm and swung him into the front counter. The big man’s stomach hit the edge, forcing him to expel his breath. In hopes of regaining both his balance and his wits, his hands slapped down on the counter.

  When his fingers touched the knitting kit nearby, he instinctively clutched the needles and yarn into a fist.

  “You fight like a rat,” Jimmy said from behind.

  Brody spun and stepped toward the weightlifter. De Luca hadn’t expected it, and he raised his hands to protect his face. Brody’s fist arced through the darkness and banged against Jimmy’s chest, provoking a squeal from The Pump.

  “What did ya do?” Jimmy yelped in agony as he stared down at the knitting needles protruding from his chest. Several rows of stitches hung precariously from the thin metal poles. A line of yarn ran to the skein on the counter.

  Jimmy took a half-step back and dropped to a knee. He brought up both hands but stopped from grabbing the two needles that extended out from his chest.

  Brody watched as Jimmy slowly fell to the ground. A few minutes later, he was silent.

  The big man walked to the window and observed his surroundings for several minutes to see if anyone was outside. When he was satisfied that no one was moving, his heart rate slowed, and his breathing became even.

  As he studied the body on the floor, Brody wondered how Jimmy had gotten into the store. The front door was locked when he entered. The big man walked to the rear of the store and found the backdoor slightly ajar. There was splintering around the lock. De Luca must have kicked it in, Brody decided. No one would have seen him do it due to the hedges lining the alleyway. The alley’s privacy had backfired on him.

  Brody returned to the lobby of his shop. He moved the spinner and books away from Jimmy’s body. He then placed the yarn skein on top of the weightlifter’s body. Carefully, he used the rug from the middle of the store to wrap up the dead man.

  It was awkward lifting the load, but it wasn’t the first time he had carried a dead body. It also wasn’t the first
time he’d moved a body in a rolled-up carpet. Once outside, he dropped the roll into the back of the dented F-150.

  The only time he’d driven it was when he arrived in Pleasant Valley. He hoped it would start. Otherwise, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  Chapter 28

  Brody was bent over, reinserting the last of the books into the spinner. He didn’t know what order they were supposed to go in, so he placed them back in a way that would fill out the wire racks. When the brass bell chimed, it caused Brody’s eyes to drift toward the store’s entrance.

  Standing in the doorway was Francis Columbo, affectionately known in the press as Frankie the Dove. The heavyset man wore a green tracksuit with a white stripe running down the arms and legs. His right pocket bulged in a distorted manner that wasn’t from a wad of cash. On his head was a pageboy hat.

  Columbo stepped into the store and stopped near the cardboard display for Carrie Fenton’s books. It was crushed during the fight with Jimmy the Pump, but Brody had rebuilt it about an hour before Columbo’s arrival. It required a significant amount of masking tape to repair the damage and now stood with a twisted lean.

  “What happened here?” the Dove asked.

  As he straightened, Brody said, “The cat.”

  “A cat did all this?” Columbo studied the mangled display. “Must be a big, f—”

  “He is,” Brody interrupted. “He’s a menace.”

  Something thumped in the back of the store.

  Columbo’s head snapped toward the direction of the noise, and his eyes searched for movement. “What was that?” he said.

  “The cat. He’s knocking more things off the shelves. Take a look.”

  The heavyset man studied him. “Nah. I don’t care about none of that. I’m here to see you.”

  “Can I help you find a book?” Brody asked.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Columbo asked. “You being a jerk or somethin’?”

  “This is a bookstore.”

  “No, it ain’t.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “You know what it is.”

  “A mystery bookstore?” Brody asked.

  “It’s a mystery, all right. It’s a mystery why you’re here.”