Murder Breaks the Bank

by Maddie Cochere

  I climbed in my truck, started the engine, and set the heat to high. I put my head back, closed my eyes, and waited for whoever was dispatched to take the report.

  The man sounded incredulous when he asked, “Lady, are you ok? You’re sitting on glass.”

  “It’s safety glass,” I mumbled. I lifted my head, opened my eyes, and glared at the man. “And I’m fine. How are you?”

  He became indignant. “Well, I know one thing. I’m not fine. Someone vandalized my car. I’m a salesman, and I need my car. It’s too cold to drive without windows.”

  I felt a little bad for sniping at him and said with a calmer tone, “Drive over to Rick’s Auto Glass on Seventh in the morning. He’ll have your windows replaced in an hour. Your insurance will probably pay for it.”

  I knew that’s where I would be headed in the morning. While Rick was fixing my window, I’d ask him if the recent spate of vandalism had brought more business his way. He’d know I was suspicious, but his reaction to my question would likely tell me what I wanted to know.

  Lights from a police cruiser came on behind us just as my phone dinged with a text. I pulled it from my pocket and saw it was from Jackie.

  No luck catching suspect. Matt picking me up. Sorry to leave you hanging.

  Officers Collins and Winnie stepped out of the cruiser. No surprise there.

  “Get out of the truck, Jo,” Tom said.

  I attempted a friendly smile. “I don’t feel all that great, Officer Collins, and it’s warmer in here.”

  Letting him know I didn’t feel good was a gentle reminder of the time I threw up on his official police shoes. I was hopeful he’d let me stay where I was.

  His eyes bugged, and I could tell he was ready to go off on me. Bill grabbed his arm and said something to him under his breath. Tom huffed away to talk with the man about his car.

  Bill walked around my truck, opened the passenger side door, and climbed in. “Smells like fish in here,” he said.

  I flipped the switch for the overhead light and pointed to the brick. It had landed on my sandwich atop the grocery sack between the two seats. Jackie’s sandwich was still neatly wrapped on the dashboard.

  “Jackie and I were going to sit here, drink coffee, eat our sandwiches, and watch for suspicious activity. Mama and her gang scuttling about sent us on a wild goose chase or we might have been here to catch the guys.”

  “It’s probably one guy,” he said.

  “How does one person stay in one place long enough to break three windows and no one sees them? Doesn’t it make more sense that each brick would be launched by a different person at the same time?”

  “Maybe, but one person is less likely to be seen than three. I have a theory, but no one seems to agree with me.”

  “Try me.” I said.

  He only thought about it for a few seconds before saying, “This feels like a prank. Nothing is stolen from the vehicles, and no one is hurt. It’s definitely kids but not too young. High school or college. They’re trying to prove something.”

  “Gang initiation?”

  “Something like that,” he said. “Most of the guys on the force think it’s a disgruntled employee or an ex-employee of the city.”

  “If that were the case, you’d think they’d target government vehicles.”

  Bill smiled. “That’s what I said.” He looked at me with a fair measure of sympathy. “Let me get a bag to gather up the evidence, and then I’ll drive you home. You’ve had a rough couple of days, and you don’t look so good right now.”

  I attempted to smile back. “Thanks, Bill. Ever since Mama hit me with the brick, the headache I’ve been battling is a hundred times worse.”

  He opened the door to step out. “Have you touched the brick? Will your fingerprints be on it?”

  I shook my head. “No, but do you really think you can get fingerprints from a brick?”

  “We haven’t sent any of them out yet to see, but most of them have a flat side, so I think it would be pretty easy to lift a print if there was one.”

  A few minutes later, with the brick and sandwich out of the way, I climbed over the center console and into the passenger seat.

  Bill let Tom know he was driving me home before brushing aside the broken glass and climbing behind the wheel. I yanked on the seatbelt strap just as he reached up to flip the switch for the interior dome light.

  “Whoa, what happened there?” he asked, spotting the tear in the belt. “This isn’t safe.”

  I stared at the belt as if I were seeing the damage for the first time. “Look at that,” I said lamely. I glanced over at him and saw a frown on his face.

  “It looks like someone tried to saw through it with a dull knife,” he said. “If so, this would be something new. The brick thrower hasn’t done anything like this before.”

  I sighed heavily. “It wasn’t a knife. It was a bullet.”

  Bill’s frown deepened. “What do you mean it was a bullet? Did you hear a gunshot?”

  I leaned forward and pointed behind me to the molding. “A bullet. When Oscar Preston and I arrived at the bank yesterday, someone pulled up alongside us and took a shot at Oscar. They missed, and the bullet went through the seatbelt and into the molding.

  “Holy crap, Jo. Does Sarge know about this?”

  “Nope, and I don’t particularly care to tell him.”

  Bill got out of the truck and went to talk with Tom again. Tom shook his head slightly and smiled. That was a good sign. He continued to smile as he approached me.

  “Get out of the truck, Jo. Your vehicle is being impounded until the bullet is removed.”

  He wasn’t yelling or being unreasonable, which made it easier to keep my mouth shut and get out of the truck.

  As soon as I was free of the door, he gripped my arm, twisted me around, and slapped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists.

  With joy in his voice, he said, “You’re under arrest for the obstruction of evidence in a murder investigation.”

  I tried to jerk away from him, but he only squeezed my arm harder.

  “You can’t arrest me,” I protested. “There’s no such thing as obstruction of evidence.”

  “Tell it to the judge,” he said and pushed me toward the cruiser.

  Movement to my left caught my eye. A figure stepped out from a tree and snapped more lumens into my face. White spots in front of my eyes prevented me from seeing, but I could hear Nick’s voice.

  “What happened here tonight, Officer Collins?”

  I detected a smile in Tom’s voice. “The brick bandit struck again.”

  Another flash seared my retinas. No one would care, but I mumbled anyway, “I want my lawyer.”

  Chapter Seven

  The mothball smell in Pepper’s house hit me with a punch the minute I let myself into her kitchen.

  Glenn and I had spent some extra time with each other this morning before I took a long, hot shower. He surprised me with blueberry pancakes for breakfast, and I was determined this was going to be a more positive day. I would be cheerful and take the day head on without complaining. I would be polite and say nice things to people. I might even find a way to make a friend who wasn’t a family member or a work acquaintance. I was going to make an effort to shake the surliness that had come over me since the bank incident.

  All my good intentions went out the window the minute that blasted mothball smell wafted into my nostrils and permeated my brain.

  “I can’t believe it still smells in here,” I said without a hint of pleasantness. “It smells worse than it did before. Isn’t that stupid coat aired out yet?”

  Jackie was sitting across from Pepper at the breakfast bar, a newspaper spread out on the counter in front of them. The guilty look on their faces didn’t appear to have anything to do with the coat.

  Pepper quickly folded the paper and dropped it on the floor beside her.

  “Good morning to you, too,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are
you talking about? We agreed to meet this morning to work on Oscar Preston’s murder. That’s why Jackie took off work today.” I eyed both of them suspiciously. “What are you two up to?”

  Pepper stood from her stool and reached for a mug to pour a cup of coffee for me. “Nothing. We were discussing who we should talk to today. We’re thinking Jerome Conner should be next.”

  Now I knew she was lying. I sat on the stool next to Jackie. “We already talked about this. We’re going to talk with someone in Oscar Preston’s family. Hopefully, we can visit his wife.”

  I realized the newspaper was on the floor because Pepper didn’t want me to see it. I walked around the counter to pick it up.

  “I’m sorry, Jo,” Jackie said. “I didn’t know anything about it, or I would have tried to stop it.”

  This couldn’t be good. My heart sank as I flipped through the paper. Pepper had deliberately shoved the sections together in the wrong order - classifieds first, then sports, lifestyle, regional news, and finally the front page.

  The large photo taking fifty percent of the space above the fold was frightening. I couldn’t believe Harry had allowed the picture to run.

  “It’s not your best look,” Pepper said. Her attempt to stifle laughter while at the same time appearing sympathetic was unsuccessful.

  Officer Collins looked positively charming in the photo with a bright smile on his face. I looked dazed and confused, drunk even, with the bloody scrape on my forehead taking center stage. Nick must have manipulated the photo, because there was no way my hair could have been that much of a mess. He had written the headline with no intention other than to sell newspapers: BRICK BANDIT CAUGHT?

  The caption under the picture set my blood boiling and moved my headache to the frontal lobe of my mothball soaked brain: The wife of Buxley police officer Glenn Wheeler is arrested when bricks destroy three car windows in last night’s spree.

  I turned on Jackie. “This is yellow journalism. When did the Buxley Beacon become a tabloid instead of a serious news publication? I’m calling Matt, and I’m going to sue the paper for slander.”

  “That’s not slander,” Pepper said. “The article doesn’t say you’re the Brick Bandit. You’re not even mentioned by name.”

  Jackie reached over to put her hand on mine. “I’m sorry, Jo. I’ll talk to Harry and see how we can fix this.”

  I put my head in my hands. The feeling of defeat was overwhelming again. When I looked up, Pepper backtracked our conversation.

  “What I meant by what are you doing here was I thought you were arrested last night. It was all over the beauty shop gossip line that you were in jail for interfering in a police investigation. I assumed your picture in the newspaper this morning confirmed it.”

  I let out a deep sigh. “It was the bullet. Bill Winnie was going to drive me home, but when I was yanking on the seatbelt, he spotted the rip. When Tom found out there was a bullet in my truck, he slapped handcuffs on me and arrested me for obstruction of evidence and impounded my truck.”

  “There’s no such thing,” Jackie said. “It’s withholding evidence, and I’m not sure they can arrest you for that.”

  “Well, were you in jail or not?” Pepper asked.

  “No, I wasn’t in jail. My head hurt and I was dizzy when Bill and I got to the station, so I asked him to take me to Sergeant Rorski right away.

  “That was brave,” Jackie said.

  “Not as much brave as I needed to get his yelling at me over with as quickly as possible.”

  “How many f-bombs did he drop on you?” Pepper asked. I sensed a hint of glee in her tone.

  “None. I didn’t give him a chance. I told him he was negligent in his duties by not getting a statement from me after the bank bombing, and because he made it publicly known he didn’t want to hear from me, I was under no legal obligation to tell him about the shooting or the bullet.”

  Pepper giggled. “What were you trying to do? Give the man a stroke?”

  I smiled. “I think he’s out of steam. He didn’t yell at all. He was calm and asked me to tell him what happened at the bank, so I did. One of the guys called Glenn, and when I was done talking with the sergeant, Glenn took me to the emergency room.” I looked at Jackie. “I finally had my head examined.”

  Pepper laughed. “It’s about time.”

  Jackie was motherly again, much like she was last night. “What did they find out? Concussion?”

  “No. The dizziness was gone by the time we got to the hospital. The doctor said the hard smack to my nose during the bomb blast is probably the culprit for the headache. That and the brick Mama launched at my forehead. He said if I rest for a few days, the headache should go away.”

  “Then why aren’t you resting?” Jackie asked.

  “Because I feel good this morning, and we have a murderer to catch.” I looked at the picture in the newspaper again. “At least I felt good until this Nick Nolte mug shot of me showed up.”

  Pepper giggled. “It’s not that bad.”

  “It’s pretty bad,” Jackie said.

  “You know what they say,” I said cheerfully. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

  As if on cue, the red phone in Pepper’s living room rang. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “It’s new business. Your picture is working.” She dashed off to answer the phone.

  Jackie continued to be motherly. “Jo, I’m all for working the case today, but I need you to be honest with me. The bomb, Oscar’s death, your head … are you sure …”

  “I am. I promise. Give Glenn a little credit, too. He wouldn’t have let me leave the house this morning if he thought I couldn’t handle working today.”

  For the first time, she appeared satisfied with my words.

  Pepper returned to the kitchen and read from her notepad, “That was Wally Kline. He lives in Patterson and said someone is stealing Brussels sprouts from his garden. He thinks it’s his neighbor Gladys Buttons, but he hasn’t caught her in the act, and the police won’t help him.”

  I frowned. “Brussels sprouts? Who grows Brussels sprouts, and more importantly, why?”

  “Brussels sprouts are good, especially when they’re roasted in the oven,” Jackie said. “I always have them in my garden.”

  “You have time for a garden?” Pepper asked, clearly in awe of Jackie’s numerous talents.

  “My plate is full,” I said. “I don’t have time for a Brussels sprouts caper.” I gave Pepper a determined look. “You can work the case if you want, but I’m out.”

  The mothball smell came through the room as if on a jet stream. I put my hand over my nose.

  “Where’s the coat?” I asked. “How can that smell still be so strong?”

  Pepper looked even more dejected than when I just told her I wouldn’t work the case. “It’s in the attic. I put it in Keith’s room and opened the window, but that only made the house freezing cold and ran the furnace nonstop for hours. Buck had a fit when the smell filled our bedroom. He banished the coat to the attic. It must be evil, because now the entire house from top to bottom smells. It hasn’t aired out one bit.”

  “Sell it,” I said.

  Pepper pouted and folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t want to, but Buck says I have to. I can’t do anything until it airs out.”

  “Take it to Estelle’s Emporium of Wonders,” Jackie said. “She and Roger have been advertising they’re selling items online. She can sell it with a caveat for the mothball smell.”

  “Do you think I should have it appraised first? I don’t know what to ask for it, and I’m sure Mama doesn’t know either.”

  Jackie snapped her fingers. “I have an idea. Oscar Preston lived in Patterson, right? We’ll run over there and see if we can talk with his wife. Then we can stop by Wally Kline’s house and get more information on his missing Brussels sprouts. When we’re finished with those two things, we can stop by the furrier at the old mall. I don’t think they moved into Patterson Plaza, and
if they’re still in business, we can get the coat appraised.”

  Pepper’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Brilliant! I’ll get the coat.”

  Jackie’s idea was a good one, but there was no way I was letting the coat in Glenn’s car. Someone else would have to drive.

  Ten minutes later, Jackie had obtained Oscar Preston’s address from a clerk at the newspaper and was settled in the passenger seat in Pepper’s car. I was comfortable in the back seat with the evil coat banished to the trunk.

  After a run through Chummy Burgers and More for random drink items, we were on our way to Oscar’s house. Pepper and Jackie discussed questions they thought they should ask his wife, but not surprisingly, I couldn’t keep my eyes open and napped until Jackie nudged me to let me know we had arrived.

  A quick survey of the area showed we were in an older section of Patterson. The houses up and down the street were one-story bungalows. White flower boxes adorned the windows of Oscar’s house with the last fading blooms of fall mums still visible. The house would have been welcoming and cheery if the flowers had been in full bloom. Now it looked cold and sad. There were no cars in the driveway, which meant there were no visitors and possibly no one was home.

  Before knocking on the door, Pepper said, “I don’t want you going all ape crazy on me in here, Jo. What’s the pecking order today for asking questions?”

  “There’s no pecking order. We’ll play it by ear. You were right yesterday when you said we’re all equal partners in this business, so whatever you think we need to know, ask it.”

  Pepper seemed pleased and rapped on the door. A large, round woman wearing a flour-covered apron over a housedress opened it a few seconds later. Her forehead and disheveled gray hair also held traces of flour. Her plump face showed no sign of recent tears.

  “Mrs. Preston, good morning. I’m Pepper Swenson. This is Jackie Ryder and Jo Wheeler.” She handed the woman her card. “We’re with Two Sisters and a Journalist, and we’re investigating your husband’s death. May we come in for a few minutes?”