by Diane Capri
Reggie took his strudel and immediately chowed down, while pastry flakes dropped all over his grizzled chin. “Thanks, Andi.”
“You’re welcome.”
JC narrowed his eyes at me. “And what can we do for you this fine evening?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. Just was in the neighborhood.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, eyeing me suspiciously. “I heard old lady Walker had herself an accident.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it was terrible.”
“Let me guess. You found her.” Reggie shook his head. “You have some serious bad luck, little lady.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think that.” I asked my question carefully. “Did either of you know her?”
JC nodded. “Oh, yup, we knew Ida. She was someone you couldn’t ignore.”
“She was a cranky old boot,” Reggie added.
“You’d know, wouldn’t you? You had a thing with her way back when.” JC cackled at his own words.
Reggie frowned. “No, I didn’t.”
“You did too. You took her to the formal back in ’52.”
“That was Eddie Black that took her, you dumb ass.” He flicked his pastry-flecked fingers at him across the table.
“Ah, yup, that’s right.” JC conceded. “Old Eddie. He died in ’09. Liver cancer.”
Reggie nodded in agreement as they paused to think about their old friend.
“She have family around?” I asked, trying to get things back on track. My particular track.
JC pursed his lips as he pondered, then he nodded. “Yup, Peter, I think. Her great-nephew. She never married or had kids of her own. Poor Peter.”
“Yeah, I heard that she wasn’t very nice to him.”
JC shrugged. “Could be. But I meant Poor Peter as in Poor Peter—that’s what people call him. He hasn’t ever got any money. He comes into the Vic sometimes, and everyone says, ‘Oh hey, there’s Poor Peter.’”
“Yeah, then we all hide our wallets.” Reggie guffawed.
JC laughed, too, then he said, “Guess we won’t be calling him that anymore, I reckon.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, he’d be getting all her money, I reckon. From what I heard around town, she had quite a bit sacked away. She didn’t have anything to spend it on. Her house was free and clear for twenty years now, I’d guess.”
“From her teacher pension?” Reggie frowned. “Not likely.”
“Nah, I guess old Ida was smart with the numbers. She made some investments years ago, and now they’re worth something.”
“What kind of investments?” Reggie asked before I could.
“In the computer market, I heard. You know, that Gates fella. Whatever company he started.”
I gaped at him. “You mean Microsoft? She invested in Microsoft?”
JC shrugged. “Could be. Could be. Guess we’ll know soon enough when Poor Peter comes to the pub and buys us all a drink.” He smacked his hand on his knee and laughed so hard he started to cough.
I chatted a bit longer before I bid them a good evening and headed back to the hotel. I had a lot to digest and put together about what Reggie and JC had told me. If I had it right, Peter and his wife Colleen had one hell of a motive to send their poor great-aunt Ida to an early grave.
Chapter 6
I never made it to the hotel—at least not then. Since I was already out and about, I decided to drive the golf cart to the D&W Fresh Market over on Blossom Lane. I needed some fresh fruit, bagels, and eggs for my suite. It just happened to be a lucky coincidence that I’d noticed the name of that grocery store on the paper bag of groceries that had been on Mrs. Walker’s kitchen counter. Whoever delivered her groceries may have seen something. Not that there was necessarily anything to see at the time. But that would be good to know, too. Might help establish time of death.
I walked in, grabbed a hand basket, and collected my produce. At the till, I chatted up the young female clerk whose name tag read Hannah. “You guys do home delivery, right?”
She nodded. “We sure do.”
“Is it always the same delivery people?”
Hannah didn’t look at me as she weighed and rung up my bag of purple table grapes. “We got two guys who do all the deliveries. Carter and Todd.”
“Who was working today?”
She finally glanced up as she tallied my final total. I noticed a dark patch on her cheek. Looked like it might be a bruise covered up with hurried makeup. There was also a bruise peeking out from her sleeve on her uniform. Poor girl. I really hoped that her bruises were not a domestic issue. I had a zero tolerance policy for men who hit women.
She frowned. “It was Todd doing deliveries today. Did you have a problem with your delivery, ma’am? I can call the manager for you.”
I was about to tell her yes, I’d love to talk to the manager, when I spotted Sheriff Jackson entering the store. He didn’t look like he was there to shop. Instead of going down the aisles into the store, he headed straight for the customer service desk, which was just one cash register over from where I was.
I didn’t want him to see me because he’d get cranky about why I was there. And he’d be right. I wasn’t just picking up some snacks; I was making inquiries. Inquires I had no real business making. Hey, a girl can go to the grocery store any damn time she wants to. I have nothing to hide.
But I decided to hide, anyway.
“You know what? I have a few more things I need to get.” I lifted my purse up to cover my face. “Do you think you could just put this all to the side for me?”
The clerk gaped at me, at my ten items, at the people in line behind me, then at me again.
“I know it’s an inconvenience,” I said. “I’m really sorry.” I didn’t wait for her response but turned around and walked quickly down the aisle. The other two people in line shook their heads.
One older lady tsked under her breath. “Tourists,” I heard her say.
I hightailed it down the frozen-food aisle, as far away from the customer service desk as I could get. I ended up near the meat counter and pretended to be inspecting the fish cutlets.
In my periphery, I spotted a young man in a green D&W shirt and black pants walking in my direction. Hands jammed into his pockets, he was licking his lips, and his gaze, which was aimed at the ground, flitted back and forth. I’d seen guilty of something syndrome before, and this guy had it in spades. As he passed me, I read the back of his shirt: D&W Delivers.
He pushed through the “employees only” door and disappeared. I was just about to follow when a big guy in a bloody white apron popped up behind the counter, startling me.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m just looking right now.”
“How about a nice piece of whitefish? Freshly caught.” He picked up a thick fillet and presented it to me like he was showing off a Rolex to a wealthy businessman.
“No, I don’t think—”
“Andi?”
I turned to see Sheriff Jackson approaching me, and I said to the butcher, “Oh, yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.”
The butcher frowned, looking confused for a moment about my abrupt change of mind, but he quickly shook it off and went to wrap up my fish in brown paper.
“Just getting some fish,” I said to the sheriff as he regarded me with that suspicious crinkle in his forehead.
“Something you suddenly needed when you spotted me coming into the store?”
I gave him a look. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Uh-huh. And you’re not shopping here because you want to ask questions about the grocery delivery to Mrs. Walker?”
“No. Of course I’m not.” I made a face, feigning confusion. “I’m human. I eat food. Grocery stores have food. See the chain of logic there?”
His one eyebrow came up, letting me know he didn’t believe a word of what I was saying.
I leaned closer to him. “Is that why you’re here? Hmm? Not sure her fall was an accident?”
“I’m here to complete my report. Which includes following up on everything.”
“Right.” I nodded.
The butcher slapped my wrapped fish onto the counter. “There you go, miss.” He smiled at me then nodded to the sheriff. “What can I get you, Sheriff?”
“Nothing. Thanks, Bud.” He looked pointedly at me again. “Enjoy your fish. Back at the hotel.”
I tucked it under my arm. “I will. Thank you.” I started back toward the checkout line, Sheriff Jackson watching me the whole time. It was like he didn’t trust me to actually leave the store. Smart man.
When I reached the register, there was another clerk there ringing up purchases. All the stuff that I’d grabbed earlier had been shoved into a basket on the floor. I picked it up, got back in line, and slapped my fish down on the conveyor. I guess I was making myself whitefish tonight for dinner, which was a conundrum as I hadn’t a clue how to cook whitefish.
The clerk must have been a mind reader, or I was a poor actress like Ginny had implied, because the women looked at my perplexed expression and said, “A little oil, garlic, lemon juice, bake for twelve minutes, and it will be perfect.”
I gave her a sheepish grin. “Thank you.”
As I packed my grocery bags into the golf cart, something in the parking lot caught my eye. It was that boy I’d seen inside when I was not buying and then was buying fish. He was huddled in the corner near the store, smoking and talking on the phone. He appeared to be severely agitated, hurriedly pacing back and forth in the tiny area like a caged animal.
I was about to creep a little closer in my golf cart so I could hear the conversation when I saw the sheriff walk out of the store and head toward him. Not wanting to tempt fate or tempt Sheriff Jackson into giving me more than just a subtle warning to stay away, I started the golf cart and got the hell out of Dodge.
Chapter 7
As I waited at the stop sign to turn onto Ivy Street to head back to Market, then up the hill to the hotel, an old man on a big tricycle turned in front of me. I looked over as he passed and saw that it was Mr. Rainer. But the most surprising part of that was he had a big bag of dog food in the basket behind him. As far as I knew, or that Daisy had told me, Mr. Rainer didn’t have a dog and had hated Mrs. Walker’s little Pekinese.
The little voice in my head told me to just return to the hotel. None of this was my business.
“Oh shut it,” I said, and did a U-turn.
I tried to keep a good distance between us, as it was extremely difficult to stay inconspicuous in a golf cart with the words The Park Hotel printed in gold and red letters on the side. It proved easier, though, since I knew exactly where Mr. Rainer was headed.
I parked on the street a block down from the Rainer and Walker houses. I wasn’t quite sure what my play would be here, but I had to find out what was going on with Mr. Rainer. As subtly as I could, I strolled down the sidewalk as if I were merely on a pleasant walk through the neighborhood.
When I reached the Rainer house, I checked all the windows to make sure he wasn’t looking out and then jogged up alongside the house. Pressing my back along the wall, I made my way toward the back yard. I peered around the corner and saw it was blocked off by a blockade fence. Crouching, I peered through a small gap in the wooden slats.
The yard was cluttered with empty clay flower pots, old white plastic lawn chairs, and a broken table that leaned heavily to the right. The grass was a bit overgrown, and there were a few dandelions along the fence, but there was no evidence of any canine in sight. No plastic water dishes or abandoned leashes or rope. No bouncy rubber balls or rawhide chew toys lying forgotten in the weeds. Nothing to suggest a dog lived there.
Turning around, I slid back to the front of the house. I crept up onto the porch, freezing still on one of the steps when it made a loud creaking noise. When the door didn’t open and a cranky old man didn’t emerge, I continued until I was pressed up against the wall near the big front window. The curtains were drawn tight, but they were a white filmy material, and if I pressed my face to the glass, I could sort of see inside.
Through the haze, I could make out the living room. It was sparsely decorated with a sofa that had its heyday in the 1970s, an easy chair that looked worn and frayed from use, an old wooden table covered with magazines, empty plates, and glasses. I wondered when was the last time a woman had set foot in Mr. Rainer’s house. Looked like maybe it had been a decade, if ever.
I didn’t see him anywhere, not at first. But then movement from the left caught my attention, and Mr. Rainer came into the room. He was holding something. Squinting to get a clearer view, I noticed that the something in his arms squirmed around. He sat on the sofa and placed that something on the cushion beside him. It jumped onto his lap and wagged its little furry tail.
A small dog.
I pulled away from the window and knocked on Mr. Rainer’s door. At first, I didn’t think he was going to answer—maybe he had seen me on his porch and was purposely ignoring my knock. I heard a grunt and a quick curse, then the door swung open, and Mr. Rainer’s deeply lined faced scowled out at me.
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know if you re—”
“You’re the girl from earlier. The one with that nosy animal girl.”
“Yes. The reason I’m bothering you, Mr. Rainer, is that I wanted to ask you about Mrs. Walker’s dog.”
“What about it?”
“I was wondering if you knew where it might have gone. From what I understand, Mrs. Walker had reported her dog missing.”
His hand was on the door, and it was starting to swing shut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do remember her dog, Lulu? Little Pekinese?”
“Yeah, stupid dog. Always barking. Ida could never take care of that thing.”
“So, you don’t know what happened to it?”
“No. Now go away.”
I put my foot out before he could slam the door shut. Thankfully, he saw it and didn’t smash it like I thought he might. “Are you sure you don’t know where Lulu is?”
“I already told you—”
“So, then, who’s that adorable little Pekinese standing behind you?”
He swirled around to see Lulu right behind him, tongue out, tail happily wagging. She gave a little woof as if to say, “Hello.”
“Hello, Lulu,” I said.
Chapter 8
The door was swiftly slammed shut in my face. The motion of it actually reverberated over my skin. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to yank my foot back before it got crushed.
I knocked on the door again. “Mr. Rainer.”
But he wasn’t going to answer it. Did I blame him? Not really.
I stepped off the porch and walked back to the cart. After rummaging in my purse, I pulled out my phone and called the sheriff. This was definitely information he needed to have. Even if Mr. Rainer had nothing to do with Mrs. Walker’s death, he had stolen her dog!
He answered on the second ring. “This is Sheriff Jackson.”
“Sheriff, it’s Andi Steele.”
His trademark sigh came through. “I hope you’re calling to tell me how good the fish you bought is tasting right now.”
“Of course not. I just saw you, like, half an hour ago. How could I have possibly gone back to the hotel and cooked the fish already?”
“I think you’re missing my point.”
“Oh no, I got it.”
“What can I do for you, then?”
“I know what happened to Mrs. Walker’s dog.”
“Okay?”
“She reported it missing a week ago.” Out of habit, I cocked my hip and put my hand on my waist. I knew he couldn’t possibly see my annoyance, but I was sure he could hear it in my voice. I know I could.
“Not news, Andi. I’m the one she called to report it.”
“Well, her next-door neighbor, Mr. Rainer, stole Lulu.”
There was silence for a
moment, then a groan before he asked, “How do you know?”
“Um, because I saw the dog in his house?”
Another sigh, this one a lot longer and angrier. “You haven’t been harassing the man, have you?”
“Of course not. I knocked on his door as a concerned citizen, and lo and behold, after he’d told me a flat-out lie about how horrid the dog was, I saw the cute little ball of fur in his living room.” There was more silence, and I thought for a second that he’d disconnected the call. “Dog theft in the state of Michigan must be at least a misdemeanor. Regardless of the circumstances, he should be charged, and the dog should be given to Mrs. Walker’s next of kin until her will is read, in which case she may have left instructions about the custody of Lulu.”
“Are you really attempting to quote the law to me?”
“Yes.”
He disconnected. I squeezed my phone in my hand, wishing desperately for an old-school landline, so I could slam the phone down in its cradle. Damn you, stupid expensive smartphone! “Argh! What an ass!”
“Are you okay, dear?”
Nearly jumping a foot in the air, I whirled around to see two tiny white-haired ladies, one in a shocking-blue cardigan, and the other with huge black sunglasses that swallowed her face. They were on the sidewalk, smiling at me. I hadn’t even heard them approach. They were stealthy octogenarian lady ninjas with walkers.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Is it a man?” the one in the blue cardigan asked.
The other one with the sunglasses nodded. “That flushed look you have tells us it’s a man.”
I shook my head. Well, technically, I was angry about a man, but not in the way they probably meant. “It’s not a man. It’s just the sheriff.”
Both Blue and Sunglasses nodded in unison and said, “Ah.”
I laughed. “Oh, no, it’s not like that.”
Sunglasses patted my arm. “It never is, dear. Not at first, anyway.”
“Terrible about Ida,” Blue said, happily changing the subject.
