by Alex P. Berg
I felt okay. Not fantastic or even above average. My legs and feet ached from yesterday’s walking, and I could feel the accumulated grime from a day’s toil rubbing between my fingers and greasing my brow, but deep down in the middle where it mattered, I felt acceptable. After the bout of self-misery I’d fought through during my solitary journey across the boardwalk, I’d take it.
I stripped my shirt off, doused my face again, and went to work on my grubbiest parts with a towel. Luckily I’d had the foresight to borrow a razor from Weston before heading to bed the night prior, though I wished I’d also had the foresight to stop by my apartment to grab a change of clothes before leaving New Welwic. At least I could console myself with the knowledge that Steele and Quinto had made the same mistake.
With my face cleaned and shaved as well as I could get it, I threw on the rest of my clothes, stepped into the third floor hallway—and almost ran into Quinto.
“Whoa there.” I put my hands up to avoid barreling into him. “What are you doing here, big guy?” He’d taken the second floor room, while Shay and I had taken the third story offerings.
Quinto swayed, trying to regain his balance after almost trampling me. “Sorry. Looking for you, actually. Time to get going.”
“And what time is that?” I asked, glancing at the nearest window.
“Eight thirty, give or take,” said Quinto. “Apparently your stint as an early riser was short lived.”
“I don’t think I ever could’ve been considered that, even during these past few months. An on-time riser, on my best days. Still, don’t give up on me yet. I might surprise you. Steele up?”
“Would I be looking for you if she weren’t?”
“Fair enough. Is she downstairs?”
Quinto nodded. “But not waiting on you. We tried the breakfast portion of our B&B.”
I thought I’d smelled black pepper and sage on Quinto’s breath, but I couldn’t be sure. Lacking the comforts of home, I hadn’t brushed my teeth after my kielbasa last night. I’d hoped it hadn’t been me.
“And?” I asked. “How it is?”
“You should ask Steele. I don’t have the most delicate of palates.”
“Is it all you can eat?”
Quinto nodded.
“So it was worth it.”
Quinto didn’t argue the point. We headed downstairs, weaved through the adjoining hallway into the dining hall, and found Steele seated at a round table covered with a white cloth. Her plate held a few egg remnants and scraps of toast, whereas the plate that must’ve belonged to Quinto had been picked clean, tainted only by a few sticky specks of syrup or honey. A third plate had been set at the side of the table, containing a biscuit, cut in half, piled with scrambled eggs and a pair of sausage links.
I pointed at it. “This for me?”
“I figured you’d appreciate it,” said Steele, giving Quinto a small nod. “And it’s something we can take with us on the road.”
“We’re leaving already? What’s the rush?”
“You mean other than someone having been murdered and there being a killer on the loose?” asked Shay. “That should be enough, but beyond that, I’d rather spend tonight in my own bed. Room three oh three’s was on the lumpy side.”
I picked up the sandwich and took a bite, speaking between a mouthful of buttery goodness. “You realize we have literally no leads right now.”
“All the more reason to get started as soon as possible. But we’ve made quick work of trickier cases before. I have faith.” Shay stood, tossed her napkin on the table, and gestured toward the door. “Come on. Might as well bring that with you.”
Another garbled sentence spoken between bits of egg and flaky crust. “Think Weston’ll mind you snagged this for me?”
“Oh, I have no doubt he’ll charge us for it whether we eat or not,” said Shay. “I don’t think he’s quite as scrupulous as Bronmuth made him out to be.”
I followed Steele and Quinto out the front of the hotel and down the streets of Aragosto, eating my sandwich as the other two conversed.
“So where were you thinking we should begin?” asked Quinto.
“Well, we didn’t get much done yesterday, so we have a lot of options.”
Quinto snorted. “Didn’t get much done? We covered more ground by four in the afternoon than we do over the entirety of most cases.”
“True,” said Shay, “but it wasn’t functional work. The majority of that was spent trying to figure out who Nicchi was and where he was from. And don’t act so righteous. Most of that covered ground was spent in a rickshaw.”
Quinto shrugged, but I saw him smile.
“The point is, all we really accomplished before checking in for the night was to look into Nicchi’s last known location, the dock where his ship went missing.”
“And technically, we don’t even know if he was there at all,” said Quinto. “Remember, nobody saw him. They saw his boat, or lack thereof.”
I swallowed a mouthful of eggs, sausage, and biscuit, another bite or two left in my hand. “You’re forgetting my meeting with Old Man Connors.”
Shay shot a sly smile back at me. “You’re right. How dare I discount that? But lacking any more crazy coots to gather conspiracy theories from, I think our next course of action is clear. We need to dig into Nicchi’s life. Talking to his wife was a start. They may not have had kids, but surely he has parents. Bianca mentioned a brother. And I’ll bet he had friends. Chances are one of them will be able to help us identify Johnny’s murderer.”
I finished my sandwich in the time it took us to reach the precinct. Quinto held the door for us as I wiped my hands on my pants and forced the last mouthful down my gullet. The biscuit had proven less fresh with each of my bites, and now my throat screamed for some coffee. At least I’d arrived at the right place to solve that problem.
Once again, the station was mostly empty. Only Sergeant Mines sat at one of the desks, scribbling away at some forms.
She waved when she saw us. “Hey. I didn’t realize you were spending the night, but it sounds like Silverbrook helped you get settled. Come in. Make yourselves comfy.”
I wasn’t sure how that was possible given the limited furniture options, but I tried not to take her literally. I headed to the coffee pot while Shay and Quinto made a beeline for Samantha.
“Morning, Mines,” I heard Shay say over the gurgle of coffee cascading into a mug. “Sounds like Silverbrook got you caught up. Is he in?”
“No,” said Mines. “Well, he was. But that’s not when he caught me up. He left a note last night, after hours. I found it this morning.”
Quinto’s face scrunched, like a brick spontaneously crinkling. “He already left?”
“Duty called,” said Mines. “He’s back at Nicchi’s house, talking to his wife, Bianca.”
That perked my ears. The dwarf had been a little too friendly with the woman yesterday. I walked over, holding my coffee carefully to avoid spilling. “He’s back there? He said he’d meet us here before continuing the investigation.”
“And he would’ve,” said Mines. “If Bianca hadn’t reported a break-in at her place overnight, that is. He left fifteen minutes ago.”
I glanced at Steele and Quinto. They each returned piqued looks.
“Well, I’m good to go,” I said, lifting my mug. “Assuming you don’t mind me borrowing this, Mines.”
The Sergeant gave me the a-okay, and back out the door we went.
17
We let ourselves in through the white picket gate at the front of Bianca’s home and headed up the porch steps. We would’ve knocked, but the interior door stood open. Sounds of heated discourse filtered through the exterior screen. I tested the latter, finding it unlatched, so I pulled it open and went in.
We found Bianca and Silverbrook in the same small, haphazardly decorated living room as before, Bianca’s cheeks pink as she gesticulated wildly with her arms.
“Well, you tell me, Bronmuth,” she said. “You’re
the one who was showing concern over me yesterday, and yet here we are. One day I find my husband’s been murdered, and the next I find my home’s been vandalized. What if they’d been after me, Bronmuth? Did you consider that? I could’ve been brutalized, or worse. Where were you and the rest of the police for that, huh?”
Silverbrook pressed fingers against his forehead, and the response he hacked out was slow and measured. “Look, Bianca, you know your safety, everyone’s safety, is of our utmost concern. We’re here to serve and protect, I promise you. But obviously you’re okay. No one came after you, regardless of whether you were here or not at the time—which you still haven’t given me an answer on, mind you. Now could you please calm down and try to answer my questions?”
“Your questions? Yes, it’s all about you, isn’t it? No concern for me at all. For the widow’s mental state.” Bianca glanced toward us. “Oh, wonderful. Company. Just what I wanted.”
Silverbrook took note of us, too. He gave us a resigned nod. “Hey.”
“Hey,” said Steele. “Mines told us we’d find you here. Said you had a break-in last night, Mrs. Nicchi?”
“You figured that out, did you?” said Bianca. “What do you think? I could’ve been murdered, same as Johnny. I bet whoever came into my home was the same man who killed him. I thought this town was safe, Bronmuth.”
“It is safe, Bianca. You’re over—” He caught himself in mid-sentence, glancing to the heavens for guidance.
Eying us, he started over. “Bianca’s home was broken into at some point last night. She says she—”
I held up a hand. “No offense, Silverbrook, but I’d rather hear it from Mrs. Nicchi, if that’s okay with her.”
I think the young woman took my rebuke of Bronmuth as a sign of confidence. She beamed, triumphant, as she launched into her story. “Someone who’s willing to listen, finally!”
Silverbrook groaned and rubbed his temples again.
“As I was trying to explain to Bronmuth,” continued Bianca, “someone violated my privacy last night. I didn’t notice it until the morning, but when I woke and happened to wander through Johnny’s old office, I found the place a total mess. Someone rifled through his things, trashed his personal belongings, desecrated his memory. It’s a disgrace, and extremely upsetting, to boot! To think some man barged in here with who knows what on his mind and got away scot-free? It’s terrifying. Do you realize what he could’ve done to me?”
I was well aware what the intruder could’ve done, but Bronmuth had already tried to convey to her without any success that said intruder hadn’t, so I didn’t see why I should venture down the same losing path. “Did you hear anything that tipped you off to the intruder’s presence? Banging or clatters or latches being tripped?”
“No. Not at all,” said Bianca. “Which is what makes the intrusion so upsetting!”
“Is your bedroom upstairs?”
Bianca blinked, confused. “Uh…yes.”
“And Johnny’s office? Downstairs?”
Bianca nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“Curiosity, that’s all. Your intruder would have to be quite the mouse for you not to hear them on the same level if what you say about the state of Johnny’s office is accurate. With a floor between you? Maybe…”
“I assume you were home all night,” said Steele.
“Well…no, actually,” said Bianca.
Quinto lifted an eyebrow. “You went out?”
“Don’t give me that look,” said Bianca. “You think I’m in a state to be alone right now? I went out with friends, had a drink or two to dull the pain.”
While that seemed an eminently logical response to losing a loved one, Bianca hadn’t seemed particularly bent out of shape when she’d learned of Johnny’s death. She still didn’t. Instead, she was simply angry at us for being in her house, or not having caught her intruder red-handed. One of the two. Maybe both.
“Where did you go, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Steele.
Bianca crossed her arms. “Does it matter?”
“It’s part of the police process, gathering information,” said Steele. “If the intruder who broke into your house did so while you weren’t here, it’s possible they might’ve seen you out earlier. Knowing where you went could help us find them.”
Bianca sneered. “Fine. I was at the Muddled Mermaid, over on Second and Main. Shared a few drinks and a good cry with some friends, as I said.”
“And what time were you gone from your house?”
“I don’t know,” said Bianca.
“It could help us crack the case,” said Steele with a hint of a smile. “You don’t even have a guess?”
Man, she was getting to be masterful.
Bianca shrugged. “I left at…I don’t know. Nineish? I don’t remember when I got back. A few hours later, I guess.”
“And you didn’t notice the mess in your husband’s office at the time?”
“Well, of course not. I didn’t pass through there. Why would I? I went straight up the stairs to bed. It was late, and I was tired. A little tipsy, too, if I’m being honest.”
“So the disturbance is only visible in the office?” I asked.
“That’s what I’ve said, isn’t it?”
“Do you mind if we take a look?”
“Sure,” said Bianca. “Not like it can get any messier now. First room past the stairs on the left.”
I left to seek it out, Steele and Quinto wisely following me and leaving Bronmuth to deal with Bianca’s ire. I skirted the stairs and paused at the foot of the office.
I lifted an eyebrow as I looked in. “Hmm.”
“Hmm is right,” said Steele.
In keeping with the home, it was a small office, perhaps six feet by eight with a single window peering over the grassy path between it and the neighboring house, and while perhaps the room was a bit messy, trashed it was not. Sure, I could tell someone had come through recently—either that or Johnny hadn’t bothered to tidy up in a while—but by and large things appeared to be in place. A pile of ledgers, haphazardly stacked but in a stack nonetheless, occupied the left half of the room’s small desk. The right hand drawer of said desk hung open, laying bare the contents—purchase and sale agreements and a collection of nautical charts, by the looks of it. A few random sheets had made their way to the floor, and the room as a whole desperately needed a thorough dusting, but beyond that, it wasn’t in bad shape.
“Not exactly what I’d call trashed,” said Steele.
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” I said.
Shay headed in, putting her eagle eyes to use, scanning them over the room from floor to ceiling to see if she could glean anything. Quinto shouldered his way past me and sat down at the desk chair, cracking open the topmost ledger. I made my way back to the living room.
“Excuse me,” I said as I arrived, once more interrupting one of Bianca’s tirades against Bronmuth. “Do you know if anything was taken from your husband’s office?”
She shot me a dirty look, whatever good will she’d afforded me having vanished in the past two minutes. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Well, I don’t know, either,” said Bianca. “I already told you I didn’t pay a lot of attention to Johnny’s business deals, didn’t I?”
She had. “Do you keep your home locked when you’re not away?”
The dirty look got grungier. “Aragosto might be safe, but I’m not dumb.”
I lifted a finger. “I’ll be right back.”
I returned to the front of the house and took a look at the interior door, kneeling in front of the deadbolt. A dull coating of oxide covered it, and though there were a few small nicks by the keyhole, there weren’t any major scratches. No sections where the oxide had been scraped away.
I wandered past the stairs, past Johnny’s office, and into the kitchen. There, to the left of the sink and a bank of cabinets, I found a door leading to the back patio.
I opened that and took a look at the deadbolt on it as well.
Same deal. Oxidation, wear, no fresh scratches.
I rubbed my chin.
Quinto remained in the office, reading, as I passed the room by, but Steele had left. I found her in the living room. She must’ve just returned.
“I already told your partner,” said Bianca. “I don’t know if anything’s missing. There he is. Ask him. I have no idea.”
“Find anything?” Steele asked.
I shrugged, but I tried to convey with my eyes that maybe I had. “Bianca, we appreciate your help, and you can be sure we’re going to try our best to find out who broke into your place. For the time being, it makes sense for us to assume the intrusion into your home and your husband’s murder are related. With that said, can you think of anyone who might’ve shared a close relationship with Johnny, someone he might’ve confided in? Friends, family. Or if he had any enemies?”
“Johnny? Enemies?” Bianca shook her head. “I doubt it. He was too aloof to have any. And friends? Well, he had a few. Émile. Rigger. Maybe Skillethands, I don’t know. And there’s his brother, of course. Joey.”
I looked to Silverbrook. “Rigger? Skillethands?”
Bronmuth nodded. “I know who she’s talking about. Émile Rodan? And Danny Peabody? He goes by Rigger because he’s good at rigging ships. Brilliant, I know. And everybody knows Skillethands. He’s big Norma’s boy.”
“Well, if everyone knows him…” My sarcasm was wasted based on everyone’s lack of responses.
“You said Johnny’s brother used to work with him, for the family fishing business?” asked Steele.
Bianca nodded. “Yeah. Left about a year ago.”
Steele gave me a look. “I think that should be our first stop.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Silverbrook? Mind showing us where he lives?”
“I would, but I have to finish some procedural work with Bianca,” he said. “You should be able to find his place, though. He works giving hunting tours. Sea Ridge Preserve. Follow the road out of town, first right, and follow the signs. Can’t miss it.”
