The Pinch Runner

by Robin Merrill

  “Yes.”

  She waited. “And? Do you know who they belong to?”

  He looked down and smoothed out his pant legs. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

  She nodded and leaned closer to him. “Of course not.”

  “They belonged to Richard Barney.”

  She gasped as the door clicked open behind her. She didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. The clop clop of heavy clogs gave the female detective away.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Chip said. “Can you show yourself out?”

  She nodded and got up quickly, avoiding Slaughter’s eyes as she vacated the office. The burden of her guilty conscience had been lifted, but it had been replaced with a heavy, cold knowledge. Richard Barney was a killer.

  Chapter 17

  Only hours after Sandra left Chip’s office, Ethel called to ask Sandra if she knew why the church was full of policemen. Sandra didn’t want word getting out that she’d broken into the church and then told the police that some files were missing from the secretary’s locked office, so she just said, “They’re probably checking the security cameras.” Ethel was shocked to learn that the church had security cameras. Sandra hurried to get off the phone and then wondered why she’d done so. What was she going to do now? It wasn’t like she could go hang out at the church while Chip’s team dusted the place.

  But there was no denying that she was now in this thing. No more pretending to sit this one out. Angel helper or no angel helper, she was going to help Chip solve this thing, if not do it for him.

  So, what was her next move? She couldn’t learn more about the weapon. She could learn more about Richard, but she didn’t think it would be a good idea to go knock on the door of his mansion and tip him off that the police were onto him. Best let them make that announcement. Where did that leave her? The motive. Why would Richard kill Phoenix? She had to learn more about the victim.

  It took her a half hour to locate her laptop among piles and piles of books and toys. She flipped it open only to find that its battery was dead. Another half hour later, she found the charging cord. She plugged it in and plopped down to finally do her research when Sammy woke from his nap and started screaming. This made her feel like screaming. She’d finally decided to focus on this thing, and life wouldn’t let her. She left the computer to charge and went to rescue Sammy from the Pack ’n Play. He was delighted to see her and made it clear he wanted to eat. Now. She propped him up in his high chair, poured some no-pulp orange juice into his sippy cup, and then dumped some Cheerios out in front of him. He kicked his chubby little legs in excitement as she slid her chair and laptop closer to him.

  She typed Phoenix Haynes into the search bar and clicked enter. The results were not as helpful as she’d expected. They were all about something involving a Haynes in Phoenix, Arizona. She returned to the bar, put quotation marks around his name, and tried again.

  The World Wide Web then told her that Phoenix Haynes was on Facebook. She clicked the link. This Phoenix had green hair and his lips pressed against an equally green lizard. Wrong Phoenix. She typed the name into the Facebook search bar, but there was only one Phoenix Haynes with a Facebook account. She returned to search the rest of the web and found a few more Phoenixes: a phys ed teacher in New Jersey; a rabbi in Seattle; and a marijuana activist in West Palm Beach. She didn’t click, fairly sure that none of these were a match.

  Maybe this wasn’t going to work. A streak of electric blue flashed through her mind. Hope House. That’s what Phoenix’s T-shirt had said. It might not mean anything. He might have bought the shirt at Goodwill. Or maybe it meant a lot.

  The new search returned 1.7 billion results in less than a second. She was just about to narrow it down when Nate came in from mowing the lawn. He glanced at the computer and then at her face. “Oh no. What are you doing?”

  She decided to redirect. “Ethel called. The police are at the church.”

  He opened the fridge and bent to peer inside. “Good,” he said into the box, “does that mean they don’t think I did it?”

  She laughed. “No. Chip doesn’t suspect either of us.” A Cheerio glanced off her cheek and onto the keyboard. She returned it to Sammy’s tray.

  Nate pulled the orange juice off the middle shelf and shut the door. Then he turned and leaned on the fridge. She cringed as she knew what he was going to do. He unscrewed the top of the jug and then tipped it back. He must have sensed her disdain because he paused his chugging long enough to lick his lips and say, “It’s not gross if I finish it.” Then he proceeded to polish it off. Good thing Sammy had gotten his serving when he did. Nate tossed the empty jug into the returnables bin and then wiped his lips again. “So, what are you looking up?”

  “Who says I’m looking up anything? Maybe I’m just brushing up on my soccer rules.”

  He chortled. “Yeah, right. Like you don’t know those rules by heart already.”

  This praise pleased her, but she still didn’t want to tell him what she was doing.

  “Does whatever you’re doing have anything to do with the murder?”

  “Maybe?” She tried to sound cute. She wasn’t sure she pulled it off.

  He rolled his eyes. “Just because Chip was nice to you this morning doesn’t mean you can’t get into trouble interfering.”

  “I know that.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Good. I’m going to go take a shower.” He kissed Sammy on the top of his fuzzy head and then headed for the bedroom.

  Sandra returned to her 1.7 billion options. The first result was a homeless shelter in New Mexico. The second was a homeless shelter in Atlanta. The third was a homeless shelter in White River Junction, Vermont. She sensed a pattern. She didn’t think that a homeless shelter would have T-shirts, but she wasn’t positive. She was about to start clicking on these shelter links when the fourth search result caught her eye—an addiction treatment center. Somehow, that seemed more like a T-shirt issuing institution. As soon as she clicked on the link, she knew. This was the place. The landing page was emblazoned with the same white logo that had been on the shirt. She didn’t know if Phoenix had been a patient there, had known someone who was a patient there, or had worked there, but it was the best lead she’d had. And this Hope House was located in Lewiston—less than an hour away.

  She looked at Sammy. She couldn’t leave until Nate got out of the shower. And Joanna had practice in a few hours. Was Nate going to be willing to play chauffeur for a few hours? Would he be willing to be her for a few hours? She wasn’t sure. She had to figure out a way to sweeten the pot.

  She went into the bathroom. “Sweetie Pie?”

  “Yeah?” The suspicion rang through the shower curtain.

  “You remember that Japanese restaurant in Lewiston that you really like?”

  “Yeah.” The suspicion was growing.

  “If you watch the kids for a few hours, I’ll bring you back some scallop and shrimp hibachi.”

  He ripped the shower curtain back far enough so he could glare at her with one eyeball. “What’s this about?”

  “Exactly what I said. I need to run an errand in Lewiston—”

  “You don’t run errands in Lewiston! Tell me what this is really about before I run out of hot water.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s perfectly safe. Phoenix was wearing a Hope House T-shirt. Hope House is a rehab in Lewiston. I’m just going to go see if I can learn anything. And then I’ll bring you seafood.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Is Bob going with you?”

  “I don’t need Bob to run a simple errand! And no, he’s not.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be fine. I will be safe.” She waited for him to argue, but he didn’t. “So, can you watch your children for a few hours? Joanna’s got practice.”

  “Yep.” He snapped the shower curtain shut. “But I don’t want scallops. They’ll be cold before you get home. I’ll take filet mign
on.”

  She wasn’t sure why cold steak was preferable to cold seafood, but neither was she going to stand in the steamy bathroom and discuss it.

  Chapter 18

  Sandra hadn’t even crossed the Plainfield town line when Bob appeared in the front seat beside her. This time, his materialization startled her less than it used to. She was becoming desensitized. “Hi.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Come to talk me out of it?”

  “No. I don’t think I can. So I’m coming along to make sure you’re safe.”

  Something about that didn’t quite ring true. “You mean that you want to come along, right?”

  At first he didn’t answer her, but then he said, “Yeah, that too.”

  She sensed that Bob wasn’t in the talking mood, so she waited as long as she could before saying, “Does this mean you’re back?”

  He looked sheepish. “For now, yes. But don’t get used to it. I just think that this is valid. The police aren’t paying attention to who the victim was. I think this is a good idea.”

  She gaped at him. “How do you know so much about what’s going on? I thought you were staying out of it!”

  He shrugged. “I hear things.”

  “Sure.”

  “I mean it. I haven’t been snooping. I just hear things.”

  “So have you heard who Phoenix is?”

  “No. It’s a big secret. That’s why I think this is a good idea.” He reclined his seat with a bang. “Besides, I needed a nap, and the movement of this minivan always soothes me.”

  She laughed so hard that she feared she’d offended him, but when she glanced his way to see if he appeared irked, he appeared instead to be sound asleep.

  It’s just like driving my children around, she thought and turned up the radio.

  Forty minutes later she had to turn the music down so she could better hear her GPS’s directions to Hope House.

  “You don’t need the GPS. I know where it is.”

  Another world heard from. “Yes, but you were snoring.”

  “I wasn’t snoring.” He sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “Angels don’t snore.”

  This was not true.

  “It’s right there.” He pointed at a tall white house.

  She estimated circa 1890 and shuddered to think how much it would cost to heat it. “Yes, I know. My GPS just told me that.” She eased the van into the small parking lot and turned the engine off. Then she looked at the angel who felt very much like an old friend. “Are you ready?”

  He gave her a small but incredibly reassuring smile. “By all means.”

  She led the way to the front door, knowing that to any onlookers, she appeared to be traveling alone. Despite the fact that her partner was invisible, his presence gave her as much reassurance as if he were visible to everyone. She took a deep breath and then reached for the doorknob. She turned and pushed and nothing.

  “There’s a buzzer,” Bob said softly.

  Duh. It was right there beside the door. She reached out and pushed the red button.

  “How can I help you?” a pleasant, lilting voice came through the speaker.

  She wasn’t quite prepared for the difficulty of that question. She’d planned to just wing the conversation, but winging it was far easier in person, face to face. It was hard to wing it with a squawk box. “Uh ... it’s hard to explain. I need to talk to someone about a friend of mine.” Her voice came up on the end as though she were asking the box a question. If there hadn’t been a tiny camera pointed at her face, she would’ve slapped herself in the forehead—Phoenix hadn’t exactly been a friend.

  After a hesitation, the box asked, “What is your name?”

  She introduced herself, and the door gave a loud click. “Come on in.”

  She pulled the door open and stepped into a dimly lit hallway. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that a sliding glass window stood open, and a smiling woman stared at her expectantly. “Who’s your friend?”

  Great. The lie that just kept on giving. She stepped up to the window, wishing the sudden lump in her throat could have held off. “His name was Phoenix Haynes.”

  The woman’s eyes widened with obvious recognition. “Was?”

  She nodded. “I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I didn’t know if you all knew.” She looked around but there didn’t seem to be a “you all.” There was just this one woman, who now had tears in her eyes.

  “What happened?”

  Sandra shifted her weight from foot to foot, and the woman’s eyes followed her as she rocked. What was she supposed to say to this? “Uh ... he was killed. Murdered, they think.” Of course he was murdered. Why had she said, “they think”? The man hadn’t accidentally fallen onto a bat. “Yeah, definitely murdered.” She wanted to slap herself again, and she almost did this time.

  A tear slid down the woman’s rouged cheek. “What do you need from us?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But I just ... I just want to learn more about Phoenix. I’m trying to figure out what happened to him—”

  “You’re not a cop.” It was an observation, not a question.

  “No.”

  “So then why aren’t the cops here?”

  Sandra opened her mouth, but no words came out. She started rocking again. Finally, she managed, “I don’t know. But that’s why I’m here. I’m not sure how hard they’re working to figure this thing out, and I just ...”

  “I’m sorry.” The woman’s eyes were dry now and her voice was taut. Something had changed. She was now suspicious of Sandra. “I can’t tell you anything. We have privacy laws we abide by.”

  “I understand. And I’m not asking about anything medical, or even personal. I just hoped someone knew him and knew what he might have been doing in Plainfield.”

  “He was in Plainfield?” She was interested again.

  “Yes. Isn’t that weird?”

  She didn’t answer, but she didn’t disagree. It was weird. No one went to Plainfield except college students, and most of those fled soon after their final semester. She didn’t want to be judgy, but Phoenix hadn’t looked like a college student.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I still can’t tell you anything.” She reached up to slide the glass window shut.

  Sandra stuck her hand into the gap to stop her, and she reeled back as if Sandra had just grown aggressive. “Please,” Sandra said, “do you know why he was in Plainfield?”

  She shook her head and then, without turning her head, glanced up and to the right. Sandra followed her gaze and found that there was another tiny camera pointed at this woman’s head. Sandra didn’t know if she was trying to point the camera out or if she was just looking at it for her own purposes, but either way, Sandra was convinced to stop pushing. “Do you have any scrap paper?”

  The woman frowned.

  “Please?” Sandra rummaged through her purse for a pen, and by the time she found one, the woman had produced a small piece of paper. Sandra scribbled her number down and said, “Thanks for your time. I didn’t mean to bother you. If you think of anything, I’d appreciate a call.” She started to walk away and then said, “I just want to find out the truth. What happened to him, it was just so ...” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

  “Unfair,” the woman finished for her. “It was so unfair. He worked so hard to come back to life, and now it’s over.”

  Chapter 19

  As Sandra slowly descended the front steps of Hope House, she heard “Psst” from behind her. She whirled around, but didn’t see anyone there. She waited a moment, listening. “Hello?”

  She looked at Bob for direction, but he just stared in the direction of the noise. She stood there for several seconds, until she began to believe she was imagining things. Giving up, she turned to head for the van again, and the hidden whisperer gave an encore performance.

  Sandra changed direction and walked toward the noise. She came around the corner of the building and at first, thought the
re was no one there. Then she saw the face in the window. She started, having not expected to see a face pressed up against the screen.

  “Why are you asking about Phoenix?” the girl asked.

  Sandra tentatively stepped closer to the creepy image and the girl leaned back an inch, so the screen was no longer molded to the shape of her face. “Did you know him?”

  She nodded. She had long, blond hair and round cheeks that looked extra-pink against her pale complexion. “I heard you talking. What happened?” Her voice trembled.

  “I’m afraid that he was murdered. Someone assaulted him in the woods of Plainfield. I’m sorry you have to hear it like this.” From a stranger. Through a window screen.

  The girl stared at her without saying any more.

  Sandra knew she should ask questions, but none were forthcoming.

  “Ask her why he was in Plainfield,” Bob said.

  “Do you have any idea why he might have been in Plainfield?” She felt like an angel puppet. She didn’t mind.

  The girl didn’t move. She might never have heard of Plainfield. Sandra took a step closer. Now her face was almost pressed against the screen. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Sandra.”

  Still nothing.

  “What’s your name?” She tried to sound friendly, but it sounded insincere in their current setting.

  “Tiara. You should go.” Her voice was soft and squeaky. Tears were imminent.

  Sandra stepped back. “Hi, Tiara. I’ll go, I will, but I want to find out what happened to Phoenix. If you know anything that could help me, please tell me. Do you know if he had any enemies? Had he made anyone angry—”

  “No!” she cried, sounding defensive. “Phoenix was a nice guy!”

  “I’m sure he was, but lots of not-nice guys live on the streets, and if Phoenix was forced to deal with them, maybe he ran into some trouble?” The look on Tiara’s face made Sandra stop talking.

  “The streets? Phoenix wasn’t homeless. He lived here. And he had a job.”