by Sandra Balzo
‘Should I ask what “his soldiers” are?’ Pavlik said. ‘I think it might be indictable.’
I laughed, wondering what was up with Sarah’s abrupt departure. ‘LaRoche is . . . was a military buff. He has toy soldiers all over his office.’
Pavlik might have found my lactose intolerance theory lacking, but now he looked fascinated. ‘Toy soldiers? The lead ones? Those things are great.’
‘They looked like metal of some kind,’ I said hesitantly. I hadn’t touched the ones in LaRoche’s office, so I couldn’t be sure. ‘But why would they make a toy out of lead?’
‘These aren’t for kids.’ Pavlik looked astonished at the thought. Toys? For children?
‘Some are antiques,’ he continued, ‘and others are made as new collectibles.’
‘That explains why LaRoche grabbed it away from Davy,’ I said, thinking back.
‘Damn right,’ Pavlik said vehemently. ‘Those things are worth a fortune.’
Guys really were a different species. ‘I meant that he took the soldier away to keep Davy safe from the lead.’
‘Which, if it’s true,’ Pavlik said, pushing off from the wall, ‘proves my point. LaRoche obviously cares about the kid. His kid. So, are we done here?’
But I’d been thinking something over. LaRoche was, after all, a man, and an unusually self-important one. ‘You know, you may have been right the first time.’
‘Of course I am,’ Pavlik said, brushing a strand of hair away from my eyes. ‘It’s common knowledge that a guy has a right to protect his little soldiers.’
‘With a little soldiers cup, no doubt,’ I said with a grin.
‘Nicely put.’ Pavlik looked around and, seeing no one paying attention, gave me a kiss on the nose. ‘Much as I would like to continue this conversation, I need to go. Try not to get into trouble.’
‘First, you want me involved,’ I pointed out. ‘Then you don’t.’
‘I think I’ve extracted all the information I can from you,’ he said with a smile.
Then he got serious. ‘One thing you might want to give some thought to: if you’re right about Davy –’ he held up his hands – ‘and I’m not saying that you are, why would this all hit the fan now? Why did someone need to kill LaRoche now?’
Pavlik was right, I thought as I watched him walk away. Something had precipitated the murder of LaRoche. But what?
As I stayed in the corner cogitating, people milled around in the entry hall. With the cupping and frothing events over, there was nothing left to do but say goodbye. People would go home and Java Ho would disappear, only to rise again at this time next year.
A sort of caffeinated Brigadoon, one where – as Pavlik put it – something had hit the fan. And then LaRoche.
But why now? And why here?
The fire at Janalee’s Place was the most earth-shaking of the events immediately surrounding Java Ho. LaRoche had accused me of both starting it and trying to steal Amy.
LaRoche was also worried about Levitt stealing Amy in a very different way. Davy’s parentage could be a factor, too, if LaRoche had just found out about it. Had he? If so, how?
LaRoche and Antonio were arguing just before LaRoche and I had done likewise. Levitt and LaRoche had their shouting match after that. And another one the day before.
LaRoche should have had ‘Please take a number’ stamped on his forehead. Was there anyone he didn’t tick off?
Knowing what I knew now about Levitt’s alibi and Davy’s questionable parentage, Antonio’s argument seemed the most pertinent. Had he told LaRoche that Davy was his – Antonio’s – baby? If so, why? Or, as Pavlik would say, why now?
I remembered the tears in LaRoche’s eyes when I came up to him that night. They had seemed out of character, but maybe the guy had more sensitivity than I gave him credit for. Then again, Fall was ragweed season. Maybe LaRoche simply had hay fever.
Sad or stuffy, though, shouldn’t LaRoche have been the one who wanted to kill Antonio, not the other way around? Unless, of course, Antonio had killed LaRoche in self-defense.
As with my theory about Levitt in the same scenario, Antonio might have to go to jail, but probably not for too terribly long. It had been an accident, after all. I tried not to think about the fact that if I was right, Antonio also had left LaRoche under the trophy table to die.
Why was nothing clear cut?
Still seeing no sign of Janalee or Antonio, I left my post in the corner and entered the exhibit hall.
I’d never seen so much corrugated cardboard.
Apparently taking advantage of Sarah’s absence, the vendors were packing up with a vengeance. Espresso machines, still steaming, jammed into boxes. Coffee beans flying through the air. A smoothie machine running amuck in shrink wrap.
Had the coffee world gone mad? I checked the time. Quarter to twelve.
‘Stop!’
It was like watching a giant game of statue-maker. Everyone froze in their place. Even the coffee beans would have stayed in mid-air if they knew what was good for them.
Sarah was back. She strode down the center aisle, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting behind her. She was tapping her watch. ‘You people,’ she announced, ‘have a contractual agreement to be here until noon.’
‘It doesn’t say anything about having to be in the booth,’ a voice said.
A laugh from the crowd, immediately stifled.
‘Who said that?’ Sarah demanded. ‘Speak up!’
I only hoped she wouldn’t start shooting the vendors one by one until someone gave up a name.
A hand was raised shakily. Sucker.
Much as I wanted to stay and watch the execution, I had caught sight of Antonio on the far side of the hall. He was wearing a suit and tie, like he’d just come from church. It was Sunday, I reminded myself.
I hailed him, and he waited for me to catch up.
‘Good morning, Maggy,’ he said, as we walked together. ‘Are you very glad to have the convention behind you?’
‘I am,’ I admitted, ‘though I’m afraid Sarah will have all the exhibitors stay after.’
‘Stay after what?’
Me and my idioms. ‘Sorry, I meant as a punishment, like staying after school.’
‘Ahh.’ He nodded in understanding. ‘I like your friend, Sarah. She says what she’s thinking and that’s unusual.’ He stopped and looked at me. ‘Most times you are that way, too.’
‘I hope so,’ I said, not knowing quite what to say.
Antonio just waited. And waited.
‘You want me to say what I’m thinking?’ I ventured.
‘I do,’ he said. ‘I think you have something that is on your mind.’
He was being so civilized about it, that I was feeling guilty about suspecting him. Even if I wanted to interrogate him, where does one properly start? Murder or adultery?
‘I told you I saw your argument with LaRoche the night of the murder.’
‘Yes,’ Antonio said. The only indication that he was feeling angry, or fearful, or anything at all, was the slightest tightening of his mouth. ‘And I believe that you, too, argued with him, Maggy. After.’
‘True,’ I admitted. ‘I wanted LaRoche to recuse himself as a judge because Amy and Janalee were finalists in the barista competition.’
‘And he refused?’
‘He did.’
‘I am not surprised,’ Antonio said. ‘I believe he very much wanted HotWired to win.’
‘Do you believe he would have cheated to achieve that?’ I was falling into Antonio’s more formal way of speaking.
He shrugged. ‘Who says what a man will do?’
Not me, that was for sure. While I’d felt recusing himself was the right thing for LaRoche to do, I had been worried about the perception of favoritism, not outright fraud.
‘But if he did cheat,’ Antonio was saying, ‘it would be for his business, for money. Not for Janalee or for Amy.’
‘But he cared enough about Amy to be upset at the thought
of her seeing Levitt.’
Antonio seemed surprised at that. ‘He said this?’
‘He said he wanted Levitt to leave Amy alone.’ I was watching Antonio carefully for his reaction.
‘Amy was with Levitt because of the drink.’ So Antonio knew about AA somehow. ‘They were friends, though many people assume that a man and a woman cannot simply be friends.’
When Harry Met Sally. ‘Why would LaRoche care what their relationship was?’
‘Marvin LaRoche cared about his property.’ Antonio said it quietly.
‘And Amy was his property?’ I hazarded, still trying to skewer the heart of the matter.
The Milkman pulled at his tie. ‘I have said too much.’
‘Listen, Antonio,’ I persisted. ‘LaRoche accused me of burning down Janalee’s Place to lure Amy away. He seemed more concerned about losing her than the store.’ I said this last part slowly, because it hadn’t occurred to me before. ‘Why?’
‘Janalee’s Place was never LaRoche’s property,’ he said. ‘It was Janalee’s.’
Before I could ask anything else, Antonio straightened his tie. ‘I must go now, Maggy, and help my employees pack up. It was very good to see you.’ He strode away from me.
‘And what about Davy,’ I called after him. ‘Was Davy his property, too?’
Antonio stopped dead. When he finally turned, his face was composed, resolute.
‘No, Maggy. David was not.’
Chapter Twenty-two
As I tried to digest what Antonio had just told me and decipher what he hadn’t, a piercing whistle sounded from inside the exhibit hall.
Once, twice, three times. Each one louder and shriller than the preceding. The last was followed by the sound of stampeding feet, screeching cardboard and squeaking carts.
I pulled out my cellphone to check the time. Sure enough, noon on the dot. The exhibitors had been freed.
Sarah came out, looking fried.
‘You didn’t hurt anybody in there, did you?’ I asked.
‘I threatened one guy with a paper cut,’ she said. ‘That’s about it.’
‘Regular paper or cardboard?’
‘Corrugated cardboard. But he deserved it.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking when I took this on. These people make homebuyers look good.’
‘I told you so.’
Sarah threw me a look that had paper cut written all over it.
‘Besides, you’re a real estate agent,’ I said reasonably. ‘Homebuyers are your customers. Aren’t you supposed to like them?’
‘Yeah, and you like yours, I suppose.’
‘Of course I do.’ Some days. And for short bursts of time.
‘I’m going out for a smoke.’
‘You quit.’
‘I’m down to smoking by proxy. Leave me alone.’ And with that she stomped off.
‘Wait,’ I called after her. ‘Shouldn’t someone keep tabs on the―’
I was interrupted by a crash from the exhibit hall. Sarah’s reaction was to break into a run. Toward the revolving door.
I stifled a groan. Unlike Sarah, I’d had no real responsibilities today. I deserved to be punished.
As I stuffed my cellphone back into my purse in preparation for investigating the crash, it triggered a memory. Amy had been talking on a cellphone when I’d seen her sitting in her SUV outside the grocery store. She had been crying.
Antonio had said LaRoche considered Amy his property. I had a hunch he was talking personal property, not business. I figured Antonio thought – or knew – that Amy and LaRoche were having an affair, but was too much of a gentleman to say it.
So, was Amy talking to LaRoche on the phone? Possibly. Or to Levitt on the verge of a setback? Even more likely. There was no way of knowing short of asking Amy. If it hadn’t been the night of the fire, I wouldn’t be giving the incident a second thought.
But it had been the night of the fire. Amy said she’d gone back to drop off her purchases that night. In the process of doing that, she had discovered the fire and been burned. Now I had to wonder whether she’d known the place was about to be torched and had gone back to either stop it or to salvage something.
Then again, maybe she’d set the fire herself.
When we’d spoken at Schultz’s Market, Amy was unloading her basket. As I recalled, though, it contained nothing but some kitchen utensils. So, what had I been expecting? A can of lighter fluid? Matches?
Well, yes. But as I told Pavlik, nothing in life was that simple. Still, Amy could have picked up the tools of the arson trade after I left. As I recalled, the lighter fluid and charcoal were along the wall by the checkouts.
So, where was I?
Amy was crying. And she could have burned down Janalee’s Place.
Antonio was almost undoubtedly Davy’s father. Which made him Janalee’s lover.
LaRoche had been jealous of Levitt. And may have been having an affair with Amy.
This wasn’t a love triangle, it was a hexagon.
Lost in thought, I stumbled over a cable.
A hand steadied me. ‘I’m sorry, Maggy,’ Jerome said.
‘For which? Leaving me with the sheriff in the snack bar or nearly breaking my ankle?’ I was exaggerating on both counts, but I was hoping to make him feel guilty. Then I selfishly could bend him to my purposes. I was a bad, bad woman.
‘Both,’ he said sheepishly. ‘What did the sheriff say?’
‘He questioned me,’ I said. I left out the kissing part.
Jerome flushed. ‘Believe me, Maggy. If there’s anything I can do . . .?’
Bingo. ‘In fact there is.’
‘Anything.’ He looked so earnest, I was almost ashamed.
‘You can tell me what you and Kate are planning to do with the tape you’re shooting.’
My reasons for wanting to know were two-fold: first, I wanted to make sure Levitt wasn’t publicly embarrassed or privately blackmailed by what was taped the night of the banquet. Second, if Kate was going to make money on this, I wanted my cut. But only assuming the former didn’t happen. I did have my ethics, after all. I drew the line at making money on the humiliation of a friend.
‘Kate and I are putting together a pitch for a new reality show.’ He held up a hand like he was delineating a marquee. ‘You know, real-life people, trapped at a convention with only caffeine, a hot dog stand and a bar. How long before they break?’
I would break Kate, the weasel. She was doing a tacky, derivative version of what I had wanted to do. But now couldn’t. Because I had ethics. And friends.
I sighed. ‘Don’t you need releases?’
‘Yeah.’ He pulled a sheaf of papers out of his jeans pocket. ‘I couldn’t believe how eager people are to be on TV.’
And to be made fools of. ‘Please tell me Levitt Fredericks didn’t sign one of those.’
Jerome shook his head. ‘No, he was the one hold-out. Kate’s working on him.’
I didn’t think Levitt would give in, but I also didn’t trust Kate.
‘You said you would do anything for me, right?’ I asked Jerome.
‘Of course.’
‘Destroy the section of the tape that shows Levitt falling over.’ Release or not, I was afraid the tape would get out somehow. Maybe plastered on the Internet.
‘But that’s the centerpiece of the program,’ Jerome protested. ‘Kate would―’
I pulled him aside to make sure we weren’t overheard. ‘Jerome, I have a feeling you’ve been faced with some major issues already in your life. Issues that have made you very mature at a young age.’
He squirmed and I held up my hand. ‘I’m not asking. It’s not my place. The only reason I brought it up is that Levitt has faced some problems, too, admittedly of his own making. But he had worked his way through them. Until Saturday night.’
Jerome got it. ‘A relapse, of sorts.’
‘Of sorts.’
He rubbed the top of his head. Then he seemed to come to a decision
.
‘Kate is going to kill me,’ he announced loudly.
‘Oh?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, I accidentally deleted about thirty seconds of tape.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t know how it happened.’
‘I do,’ I said, touching his shoulder. ‘An honorable man, doing the right thing. Thank you.’
‘No. Thank you, Maggy.’ He suddenly looked ten years older than his age, rather than ten years younger. ‘I appreciate that you recognized something in me, but I also appreciate you not asking a lot of questions.’ He shrugged. ‘Cancer is not a place I like to visit unless I have to.’
‘Understood.’ I stuck out my hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure working with you.’
‘Same here,’ he said, shaking my hand. ‘I hope we’ll have the opportunity to do it again.’
‘Me, too.’ I turned away, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. His words shouldn’t have more meaning than the same ones spoken by any other twenty-one-year-old. But they did.
Blinking, I looked around for the source of the earlier crash. Nothing. In fact, all of Java Ho had seemed to fold its tent and silently – or not so silently – steal away. In its place, the national association of roofers was waiting in the wings to move in. Signs welcoming their members already were stacked up along one wall.
The end of a convention, especially one you’ve been an integral part of, is a little sad and a lot weird.
With the exception of the unfortunate Taylor wedding, Java Ho had owned the convention center. Now all our people were leaving or already gone, and strangers were moving in.
It felt weird, but not so sad. I didn’t mind leaving Java Ho – and Marvin LaRoche – behind this time.
I wandered into what had been the competition room. Even this, the crime scene, was cleared out. No stage, no trophy table, no body. Not even the oval-shaped stain that had started it all – at least my part of it. Just a plain blue carpet waiting for the next row of chairs, the next trample of feet.
A scratch at the door and I turned. Janalee was peeking in with Davy. They came in quietly. ‘It feels so odd, so hushed,’ Janalee said. ‘Like church.’
Janalee looked like she had just come from there. She was wearing a black long-sleeved, high-necked dress, not unlike the one I’d worn to the banquet, but without the no-shoulder look..At Janalee’s words, Davy started to whimper.
