Cleanup on Aisle Six

by Daniel Stallings

  Kathryn’s low musical voice shattered his thoughts. “How … How did Oscar … die?”

  Detective Hughes cleared his throat again. This was the part he really dreaded. “I’m afraid we believe he was … murdered. Bludgeoned. I won’t trouble you with the medical details.”

  Kathryn choked on her sobs. “M-murdered? But … no! No, no, that’s not possible … Oscar … My Oscar was a sweetheart. He was a good boy. No one would want to hurt him …” Her words melted away.

  “Mrs. Lindstrom, do you have any idea why your husband would be at Esther’s Family Grocery?”

  “I’ve never heard of the place. Is it far?”

  “Actually, it’s only a few blocks down Shorewood Avenue. You could walk there. Maybe take you fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did he ever mention a trip to the grocery store tonight?”

  “No. Never. In fact, he said he wanted to stay in tonight. He had a lot of work to do. He planned to stay in his office for the rest of the night after dinner.”

  “And did he?”

  “I heard him go up to the office and lock the door.”

  “When was this?”

  “Around six thirty. Just after dinner.”

  Detective Hughes lifted a pair of critical eyebrows. “And five and a half hours later, you aren’t curious about his prolonged stay in his office?”

  “Not at all. He always worked long hours. Sometimes, he’d be up there for ten hours straight. I never worried.” Kathryn sucked up a thread of tears with the edge of her tissue. “He was a hard worker. Never lazy. Every success he had he slaved for.”

  Detective Hughes regarded the new widow with more suspicious eyes now. Could he really picture this tender, weeping angel of violets possessing the bloodthirsty strength to bludgeon a man? Did she hate her husband enough to crush his skull? His eyes roamed over the bright crystal tears trickling over pink cheeks. Murder didn’t agree with the image of Kathryn Lindstrom.

  “So you have no clue why your husband would be anywhere near that grocery store?”

  Kathryn straightened her wilted shoulders, lifted her chin, and willed her tears to stop. She had the grim, unforgiving air of a Mother Superior defending her charges. “Absolutely none. We have never been there. We shopped at Whole Foods. We had absolutely no reason to ever go to that store. I suggest you look for the monster that lured my Oscar to that horrible place.”

  Duly reprimanded, Detective Hughes changed tactics. “I understand that your son is here.”

  “You must mean my stepson.”

  “Ah.” The detective hesitated. “Then you aren’t Jason Lindstrom’s mother?”

  “Of course not. Jason’s mother died in childbirth. I’m Oscar’s third wife.”

  “Interesting. Do you happen to know the names of Oscar’s first and second wives?”

  Kathryn lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. She sighed. “I never knew them. Jason’s mother died like I said. And the second marriage was over years before I even came to Shorewood. I lived in Northern California most of my life. I’ve only been in Southern California for about six years.”

  “And how long have you been married to Mr. Lindstrom?”

  A smile—cool, calm, definitely one a competent nanny would give when asked about her well-tended wards—touched those heart-shaped lips. “Six years.”

  A squeaky voice interrupted them. “Kathryn? What’s going on? Who are these men?”

  Detective Hughes aimed a glare at the intruder. His first impression was that of a stick figure scrawled in chalk on the blacktop. The young man stepped out from the darkened entryway. Mid-twenties, the detective surmised. His skin was anemic and tightly stretched over his bones. His dry, ash-blond hair was ruffled, and his amber-brown eyes darted among the three people seated in front of him. Glasses as thin as his body teetered on his nose. He looked like he fell into his pajamas.

  “Who are you?” The man—more like a boy, Detective Hughes considered—directed his question at the senior officer. “What do you want with us?”

  Kathryn Lindstrom rose from the arm of the sofa, the Kleenex strangled in her soft, clean hands. “Jason.” Her voice came out stern and maternal. “This is Detective Hughes from the Shorewood Police Department. And this is Officer Schafer-SchmiDetective They’re—”

  “What do they want with us? We haven’t done anything!”

  “Don’t interrupt, Jason. It’s rude.”

  “Dad wouldn’t allow anyone to come into his house at this time of night! He—”

  Detective Hughes stood and crossed to Jason. The young man swallowed and jerked backward. Yes, he was frightened. And fear made the arrogant youngster bark at him. A high-pitched, trembling bark that had no force behind it. A puppy intimidated by the big dogs.

  “You’re Jason, Oscar Lindstrom’s son?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m afraid your father was found murdered at a local grocery store tonight.”

  Jason narrowed his amber-brown eyes. “How?”

  “Bludgeoned. Not a pretty scene.”

  “You’re sure of this?”

  Detective Hughes let his frown deepen. “I’m not a man who calls any death a homicide just to have something to do. And I think it’s my turn to ask questions. Do you know why your father went to Esther’s Family Grocery tonight?”

  “Rundown-looking store just off Shorewood Avenue? I have no idea. Dad wouldn’t be caught—” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Dad gave his proclamation tonight. He was spending the night in his office, working late. He was there since after dinner.”

  “This was usual for him?”

  “Absolutely. He loved his office. He’d stay in there for days if he didn’t have to eat. It was his private world in there. He’d lock his door and forget about the rest of us.”

  “You can confirm he was in there tonight?”

  Jason tilted his colorless head to one side, a gesture both appraising and condescending. “No, Detective. I can’t. He sent me to my room before he left the dining room. And my room is at the opposite end of the hall from his office. I never left it. I didn’t see or hear anything. And since he wasn’t found dead here, I’d assume someone lured him out of his precious castle. Although, let’s be frank, not even the Apocalypse would force my dad to leave his house to go to some hole in the wall on a night like this.”

  “Jason!” Kathryn reprimanded. “Don’t talk like that about your father.”

  Jason blushed, and his eyes dropped to his feet.

  His wet feet.

  Detective Hughes saw the beading of water on Jason’s ankles. His face didn’t change, but his eyes flicked up to the lifeless hair capping the young man’s head. It was dry. Dry hair. Wet feet. Things just got interesting.

  “So far as either of you know, Oscar planned to stay in his home office for the rest of the night. He had no plans to leave. He went up there at six thirty. You, Mr. Lindstrom, were in your room. May I ask where you were tonight, Mrs. Lindstrom?”

  “Oh, come on!” Jason protested, “You can’t really suggest that Kathryn—”

  Detective Hughes stopped him with a stony look. “I’m thorough.”

  Kathryn nodded, whisking away a loose tear. “As he should be. He needs to catch the brute who … who …” She sniffed and dried her eyes again. “I was in between the kitchen and dining room at that time. Clearing up after dinner. Then I washed dishes until about eight o’clock. We had a roast duck and the roasting pan takes some time to clean properly. And from eight to when I went to bed at eleven, I was cleaning, doing laundry … all the usual chores.”

  “Down here on the ground floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And neither of you heard Oscar leave this house?”

  Both nodded.

  “Sounds straightforward enough. Jason in his room. Kathryn in the kitchen. Neither of you know Oscar’s movements after he locked himself in his office. And the fact he was found at Esther’s Family Grocer
y is a complete mystery to both of you.”

  “He was lured there, Detective,” Kathryn insisted. “Some monster did this to my Oscar.”

  Tears rained from her eyes. Adam handed the whole box of tissues to her.

  “There’s a lot left to determine. We’re not in a position to form any theories at present. We just want information.” His gaze drifted to the silver clock hung prominently over the electric fireplace with its white Carrera marble surround. Twelve twenty in the morning. His wife would be at home in bed, cuddling his pillow as a substitute to him being there. Another lost night. “I suggest we stop here for the night. I’ll be back tomorrow with further questions.”

  “Of course, Detective,” Kathryn said, slipping her tear-soaked tissue into the pocket of her robe. “We’ll be here for you.”

  “Do either of you work?”

  Jason snorted. “Dad worked. He was the much loved food critic expanding his empire. Kathryn was the perfect housewife. I was the dutiful, stay-at-home assistant.”

  The sarcasm in his voice was caustic. His meaning was clear. Oscar was the king, and Kathryn and Jason were his slaves. The son clearly felt his slavery. Was the wife so blinded by love that the domination of her life didn’t touch her?

  Detective Hughes smiled. “Then we’ll all meet here tomorrow. Let’s get moving, Adam.”

  He and his partner stepped into the entryway. In the soft light spilling from the living room, the detective spotted an umbrella stand next to the front door. Clustered among the unused umbrellas was an ebony cane with a brass head.

  The cane that boy, Liam, said should have been at the crime scene.

  He turned to Kathryn, who lingered in the opening to the living room. “Is that your husband’s cane?”

  Kathryn tiptoed around him. Her eyes swelled. “Yes, that’s Oscar’s. I don’t understand … He took it everywhere. He never left home without it.” She wheeled around, her eyes intent and desperate on the dark, somber face of Detective Hughes. “What if Oscar was kidnapped?”

  “We’ll look into it, Mrs. Lindstrom. Do you mind if we borrowed the cane for analysis?”

  “Yes, of course. Take anything you want. Just catch this monster.”

  Jason’s face, hovering in the shadows, was carefully guarded. He didn’t seem to share his stepmother’s enthusiasm for justice.

  Detective Hughes pulled a handkerchief out of his overcoat pocket and cupped the cane in his hand. It wouldn’t hurt to check, right? He wasn’t really listening to the suggestions of some snooping kid. But a murder weapon had to be found. Thanking the widow for her time, he and Adam strode into the rain and darkness again.

  The senior officer tucked the cane under his coat to protect it from the rain. “Adam, why don’t you go back to the store and see how the techs are doing? I want that whole store examined, even if you have to take every can, box, and bag off the shelves. If you find anything remotely valuable, bring it to my desk. I’ll take this to the lab.”

  “Think it’s the weapon?”

  “Could be. Hopefully Rick can give us some results. The autopsy should be done later today. We’ll come back here after we get those results.”

  Li writhed in his sleep, haunted and hunted by the evil possibilities birthed by his imagination. The images seemed to vibrate with light. Reuben’s tan face flushed with blood and darkened with shadow. His eyes glittered like black pearls. A wide smile wrenched his lips, unveiling clean white teeth as keen as knives. He crept forward, keeping a man locked in his crosshairs. The man hid under a shaggy black pelt, the collar turned up to cloak his face. A yellowing bald spot peeking over the edge of the collar made the perfect target.

  Reuben’s face began to mutate. His tan melted into pale skin. His black-coffee eyes glowed silver and blue. Li’s face. Li’s features twisted by the lust to kill. There was something clutched in his trembling hands. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was lethal. He lifted his weapon. His nostrils flared. He brought the nameless tool down on the man’s fragile head. A geyser of blood.

  Li bolted awake, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sweat glazed his forehead. His eyes searched the darkness for vestiges of his nightmare. Nothing. He leaned over and switched on his bedside lamp, chasing away the shadows suffocating him. He was in his studio apartment, tucked into bed. The clock on his nightstand reported that it was two thirty in the morning. This was the fifth time he woke from the nightmares since he flopped into bed.

  It’s just a stupid dream, he told himself. Just forget about it.

  But he couldn’t. The man in the dream was very dead. And he kept picturing Reuben, eyes gleaming, teeth bared, driving a weapon into Oscar’s skull, squealing with delight at all the blood. Blood splotching his apron in bright red stains. And when Reuben’s face melted into his own, Li worried whether that meant he wanted to kill Oscar too. Sure, the guy had been a jerk. But murder?

  Unable to settle his brain, Li tossed back his blue plaid comforter, pried himself out of bed, and shuffled to the tiny bathroom. His nose crinkled up at the stale stench percolating inside the cramped room. He scrubbed his face with the water pouring out of a belching faucet. The light over the mirror blinked. Li looked up at his reflection.

  A middle-aged man stared back at him.

  He sprang backward and ran his fingers over his face, checking if it was really his. It was like looking into a sad future. He was a twenty-year-old man with a web of stress lines and premature wrinkles draped over his face. He was too young to look this old. In his stormy blue eyes, he saw the pain of his father, the agony that ate him alive. Then he saw the raw, wet eyes of his mother and sister at the memorial service. The hate and anger in Reuben’s eyes. The sparkle of welcome in Noah’s. The suspicion in Detective Hughes’s. The dead, furious glare of Oscar Lindstrom. Eyes like Medusa. Eyes everywhere, staring at him, tracing the old age that crept into his face. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes.

  Li’s stomach lurched. He leaned over the edge of his sink.

  When he was done, a terrible sense of purity washed over him. It was over. He fought it for so long. Now he had purged it, washed it out of his body. The drain could take all that crap from him. Maybe now he could enjoy an empty sleep, a mind cleaned of its sick memories.

  He shoved out a sigh and gargled the funny, metallic-tasting water, trying to wash out the typical sour aftertaste. Then he could be clean and perfect again. A fresh start. No more old man in the mirror.

  He glanced up, and there were even more lines in his face.

  “Oh, screw you,” he growled.

  Li pawed at the towel and buffed away the frown pulling down his face. He smothered the white-hot anger sizzling under his skin. He hobbled out of the bathroom, crossed the clean but sparse layout of his studio, and collapsed face-first onto his bed. Nope. No good. The water woke him up, and his brain already started dissecting his dream. He kept reliving the murder, seeing it as the killer must have seen it. He hated his subconscious for constantly casting Reuben in that role. But this new twist—the killer mutating into Li—brought up another idea. The killer didn’t have to be Reuben. He could be anyone who was there. And Reuben wasn’t the only one who had issues with Oscar.

  Li rolled onto his back and tried to summon answers from the ceiling. The weapon was a problem. He tried to remember whether his subconscious gave him a picture of it. Even just an idea, a suggestion, a possibility. Already the details were growing fuzzy. He felt that it was handheld. Portable. Easy to carry and use. But that could lead to anything in the store. Oscar’s cane. A basket. A can of soup. A box of Frosted Fizzle Bombs. It had to be inconspicuous. A killer wouldn’t walk around a grocery store waving a hammer. Was it a weapon of opportunity? Was it planned beforehand? A headache crumpled his thoughts.

  Amid the agonies of speculation, a new picture rose from the depths of his memories. Oscar’s overcoat. Big, black, furry, and shapeless. The pelt of a Sasquatch. Li remembered how he hadn’t been sure who the man was when he first found the body. The c
oat swallowed its owner.

  Li launched forward, his eyes big and bright like searchlights. His hands, twitching, impulsive, started to rake through his hair. His subconscious did suggest something with that never-ending stream of nightmares. He could see the scene again, ignoring the killer. Oscar stood there, cloaked by his overcoat, the collar turned up to hide his face.

  He combed his memories again. Yes. The collar had been turned up when he found Oscar. It cupped his face, some of his blood collecting in it like wine in a goblet. Whole worlds of suggestions whirled through Li’s brain, making him dizzy. The missing cane. The missing groceries. The upturned collar. The fact no one in the store noticed Oscar’s presence. The cloudy skies.

  Oscar Lindstrom didn’t want a soul in Shorewood to know he was at Esther’s Family Grocery that night.

  CHAPTER 7

  Morning After

  The clouds scuttled north, leaving the Monday skies a clear Tiffany blue. Detective Hughes watched the world strengthen in color and definition through the windows of the police station. The hours crawled by. He could see the geometric, eighties architecture of City Hall looming less than a block away. He wondered if Constance Henderson was there, marshaling her defense forces for a possible murder accusation.

  He sighed, rubbed his weary eyes with the back of his hand, and dropped his gaze back to the reports stacked on his desk. Crime had so much paperwork. The blue skies trapped on the other side of the window panes served as the only break from the mass of black-and-white type. He drummed his fingers on the metal desktop, waiting for the call that was due—

  The phone screamed. Detective Hughes allowed a little smile. Ten o’clock on the dot. Punctual as always.

  “I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” Dr. Reynolds growled on the other end.