Killer Tied

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “I’m starved. It took longer than it should have.” He grabbed cold cuts and bread from the cabinet.

  “I could heat up spaghetti from the other night, if you’d like,” I said.

  “I don’t want any damn spaghetti.” He slammed the refrigerator door closed, then flung himself into a kitchen chair and dropped his head into his hands.

  I went over and began to massage his shoulders. “Tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, Eve. I shouldn’t take any of this out on you. It’s just that I’ve been here before, with Grandfather being accused of a murder. And now Father. Why do the authorities always pick on us?”

  I sat down in a chair beside him and took his hand. He raised his head and looked into my eyes. Despair had replaced the anger on his face. “I guess I know why they picked on us this time. I told Frida I was not certain if I’d seen the knife before. She was kind enough not to accuse me of lying, but of course I was. Instead, she suggested we take a ride out to Grandfather’s to see what he had to say about it. I could tell where all of this was heading, but what could I do? Grandfather identified the knife responsible for the murder as my father’s. Frida asked for something from the house that might have Father’s fingerprints on it so she could compare them with those on the murder weapon. You know they will find a match. Oh, Eve. I don’t know what to do.” He put his arms around me and we hugged, finding some comfort in each other’s physical presence.

  “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought. I’m going to bed.” He rose and started toward the bedroom, then turned back to me. “I just found him again. Why would he do this?”

  I found Mr. Egret to be difficult, but even though the meaning of Sammy’s question had more to do with what his father was doing to Sammy and the boys, I considered another aspect of the question. What possible motive did Mr. Egret have for killing Eleanor’s father? He didn’t even know the man. Did he?

  Sammy went to the boys’ room to say goodnight. Then, kissing me goodnight, he headed to our bedroom. Grandy and Max came in shortly after that, and I followed Sammy to bed an hour later. Questions about my parents and Sammy’s father swirled around in my head. I slept poorly and awoke with a headache and a stomach upset enough that I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

  Well, enough of that, I thought to myself as I gargled with mouthwash and prepared to step into the shower. I was a take-action gal, not one who did well wringing her hands in despair. It was time to get Eve Appel, newly minted PI, on the case.

  Chapter 7

  As determined as I was to shake off my lethargy and take charge, I felt tired and achy, and my stomach was too unsettled to eat. I got the kids ready for school and let Sammy sleep in, since I knew he didn’t need to open the airboat business early and wasn’t working at David’s ranch today. Grandy accompanied me to the shop, where I told her what had happened yesterday.

  She seemed withdrawn and worried, and I wondered if she still felt betrayed by my concern over Eleanor’s story as well as my putting my wannabe sister up in a rental.

  “Grandy,” I told her as we straightened the shop for the morning opening, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “It’s okay. I know you’d like to believe your mother is still alive. I’d give that to you if I could, but it’s just not true.”

  “I believe you.” I pulled her plump body into my skinny one and gave her a hug. I must have been more distraught over our disagreement than I thought. My body began to tremble like an earthquake was shaking it.

  “Uh, Eve,” Grandy said, breaking the hug, “your cellphone is ….”

  I gave a small, embarrassed giggle. “I forgot I put it on vibrate.” We both laughed.

  It was Grandfather Egret. “The police think they’ve found their man in this murder, but I know otherwise. My son may be a recluse and more than a little odd, but he’s not a murderer. Sammy and I have talked. We know the authorities will not go beyond the evidence they already have.”

  I was about to interrupt, to assure him that Frida was fair and would pursue other leads, but even I had my doubts. She might want to look further, but would her boss let her?

  “Don’t tell me about your friend Frida. She’s a good cop, but why would she stick out her neck for an Indian, especially one no one understands, not even his own family? Who knows what such a man is capable of?

  “We need your help. We want to see if Crusty will take this case for us. We know he’ll want you to do the work, so that’s why I’m alerting you first.”

  I felt alive with anticipation. This was what I was destined to do: track down murderers. As quickly as a tingle went up and down my spine, a lump formed in my stomach. Did I believe Mr. Egret was innocent?

  “Meet us at Mr. McNabb’s office. We’ve got an appointment there in fifteen minutes.” He disconnected.

  I told Grandy what was up.

  “You’re going to have to go at this investigation the hard way, Eve.”

  “What’s the hard way?” I asked.

  “You know this better than I do. You’ll have to go to the town Eleanor’s parents lived in and where she grew up.”

  I groaned. “But that’s in New York State. I can’t leave everything here—the boys, Sammy, the store, you, Madeleine, everyone. What will Sammy say about my leaving now?”

  “Sammy knows that if you work this case, he’ll have to pitch in here. We’ll take care of things on this end, Eve. And you know we’ll be waiting when you get back.”

  Get back? It seemed it was a done deal that I was leaving for Eleanor’s hometown.

  “One more thing,” Grandy said with a smile. “I think you should take someone as backup.”

  Before I could consider who that might be, Grandy had already sprung into action. “I have just the person in mind. Don’t worry. I’ll get in touch with him. You mosey next door to your meeting.”

  It seemed Grandy had put together some kind of plan. Whatever she had up her sleeve, it lifted her spirits out of despondency. She almost shoved me out the door.

  “You think you can handle this one, Eve?” asked Crusty. Grandfather Egret, Sammy, and I were conferring with him about how to proceed with the case that was shaping up against Mr. Egret.

  “No charges have been filed against him yet,” said Crusty, “but it’s only a matter of time. He fled the area, the knife has been identified as the murder weapon, and Mr. Egret is the owner of that knife. If the fingerprints can be determined to be his, the case is all but over. We need to move fast, and we don’t have much information to work with. If you want me to take on this matter for you, then we’ll need a contract, and then I’ll need your help.”

  “What kind of help?” Grandfather Egret asked.

  “Everything about your son is relevant here. I know he’s been living in the swamps for years, but I need to know what he did before he left, what he did there, and what he’s been up to since he returned. And any ideas you might have about where he might be now.” Crusty gave Grandfather and Sammy a stern look. “I mean everything on the man.”

  Sammy and Grandfather exchanged looks and nodded.

  “I’ll be looking into Eleanor and her family.,” I said.

  “Doesn’t that hit too close to home, Eve?” asked Sammy.

  “Just as your father’s life does for you, my love,” I said. “Everything about this case is personal, whether we know it or not.”

  “You’ll be going to New York then,” Sammy said. “By yourself? Isn’t that a lot to take on? I’d feel better about your leaving if you had someone to go with you.”

  The door to Crusty’s office opened, and the person who would serve as my guardian angel walked in.

  “Nappi.” I smiled, knowing that Grandy had called him to accompany me. Who better than a mob boss to ferret out family secrets?

  Frida called late in the afternoon to say that the authorities wanted Mr. Egret for questioning in Mr. Montrose’s murder and that the fingerprints on the murder weapon matched those fou
nd on the comb in his bedroom. An APB had gone out an hour earlier. I doubted the authorities would find him or that anyone would spot him, not unless they were willing to search the swamps.

  “There are other prints on the knife, too,” said Frida. “Some from a small hand, perhaps a child’s. Your boys said nothing about handling the knife to me. Did they say anything to you, Eve?”

  “Now you think my sons might have killed Mr. Montrose?”

  “No, of course not. They might have asked to see the knife, and he let them. I just can’t understand why the kids wouldn’t have said anything to you.”

  “Well, they didn’t, and they’re not liars, you know.” I gritted my teeth, trying not to sound irritated at her insinuations.

  “I’m sorry, but I had to ask.” She paused for a moment. “I got word that Grandfather Egret and Sammy hired Crusty McNabb to look into the case. I assume that means you’ll be involved.”

  “I will be, but I won’t be intruding into your case. I’ll be looking into the other side, trying to figure out if there was a connection between Mr. Montrose and Mr. Egret. If he killed Mr. Montrose, there had to be a motive. What might that be?”

  “So you’ll be going to New York to look into the Montrose family there?”

  “Isn’t that something the authorities should be checking into also?” After I said it, I wanted to bite my tongue. It was a dig at how the police were handling the case, but I’d also revealed to Frida how our family was going to proceed. Was that something a PI should keep to herself?

  That night Grandfather, Sammy, the boys, Grandy, Max, and I had gathered around the fire outside Grandfather Egret’s place. Sammy and I had told the boys I would be leaving in the morning for a few days and reassured them I would be back.

  “It’s for a short time, to help your grandfather out,” I said.

  “Where is he?” my oldest asked.

  “He’s somewhere safe,” Sammy answered. I hoped he was right.

  Sammy wasn’t happy that my companion for the trip north would be Nappi, but he was convinced I needed someone to accompany me, and I knew he trusted Nappi to take good care of me. Like my friend Madeleine, Sammy had reservations about my hanging out with mob bosses, even though Nappi had proven to be a true friend. Earlier I had called Madeleine and David and apprised them of my plans.

  “What kind of case, Eve?” asked Madeleine.

  “I can’t give you any details,” I replied.

  “Humph,” she said. “I’ll bet I can guess. It’s all about the recent murder and your newly found relative.”

  “I don’t have any new relatives,” I insisted.

  “Right. Sure you don’t.” It was clear she didn’t believe me.

  “You know Grandy would know if there was any doubt about the death of my parents.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t get over how much Eleanor looks like you. It’s uncanny. Well, good luck on your first case. And be careful.”

  I heard one of the babies crying in the background and wished for a minute that my life was as simple as Madeleine’s—that is, if you can call the demands of two infants simple.

  As Grandfather stirred the fire and the boys made their s’mores, I considered what Madeleine said about the resemblance between Eleanor and me. It bothered me too. Grandy intruded on my thoughts.

  “Eleanor is an odd one, don’t you think?” she said. “Poor girl losing her father and not being able to locate her mother. I have no reason to doubt she believes the story about her mother being your mother, Eve, but I think you should push for a DNA test.”

  “What’s the point if the story is false? And it is.” I was surprised at Grandy’s suggestion.

  “It will settle things and reassure all of us, particularly you, Eve.”

  “And shatter Eleanor’s life. She’s kind of got her hopes wrapped around our being sisters. She just lost her dad. For now, I’d like to hold off. I know what the truth is and so do you. We’ll let it stand like that for the time being.” My tone of voice carried conviction, but there was still a part of me that wondered, that wanted parts of Eleanor’s story to be true. “I need time to think about this.” I left the fire and walked along the canal, taking in the stillness of the water, broken only by several fish coming to the surface to feed.

  I knew Grandy was right. I was entertaining a fantasy, one that needed to be put to rest. A DNA test would do that. Maybe there was a way to do the test without Eleanor’s knowledge. I punched Jerry’s number into my cell. “Is Eleanor with you?”

  When he said she wasn’t, I told him what I wanted him to do.

  “Ah, Eve, I don’t want to do that. That’s sneaky.”

  “Since when don’t you do sneaky?”

  “I’m trying to be a better person.”

  “You can do that after you get some of Eleanor’s hair and send it off to the lab for DNA analysis. I’ll text you the address. Be sure you get roots or it won’t work.”

  “Ah, Eve,” he said again.

  I ended the call. There. That was done. I hoped.

  Next morning, we headed north in Nappi’s black SUV, a more comfortable and luxurious ride than my Mustang. We took I95 into South Carolina then cut west, staying overnight in North Carolina and driving the Blue Ridge the next day into Pennsylvania and north to New York State. I hadn’t experienced early summer in the Northeast for several years, but the lush green foliage of the mountains and river valleys was as beautiful as I remembered and salve for my anxieties about this case. By the time we reached Eleanor’s hometown of Tillahook at the edge of the Catskill Mountains, it was dark. We found a mom and pop motel just off the main street next to a diner, where we ate dinner then retired for the night.

  Nappi was surprisingly quiet during the ride, and I suppose I was too. I did learn that he had attended cooking school at one point—in Connecticut—a gourmet spin on what he had learned in his mother’s kitchen. For a while we talked about movies. He liked noir movies from the forties, and I was more a fan of comedies.

  The next morning Nappi made inquiries at some of the stores, including a ski shop where Eleanor said her dad had worked for several years. I headed for the high school. While I flashed my newly minted PI card, Nappi would be flashing his award-winning smile. If I thought my credentials might get me some traction with the principal, I was wrong. He was suspicious of my inquiries and told me he knew little about Eleanor’s family since he hadn’t been principal when she was in school.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” he said, rising from his chair in a move of dismissal.

  “How about any of her teachers?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want you bothering my staff. Now please leave. Our students’ records and their time here is confidential. You should know that.”

  “Look, Mr. Albert, I appreciate your need to protect your students, but Eleanor’s father has been murdered, and her mother is missing. You can appreciate how upset she is. Don’t you want to help her?”

  He paused for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “You’re working for whom?”

  “I can’t tell you that, but I can say that Eleanor is aware I’m here and looking into the case.”

  “If this request was coming from the police, I might be forced to cooperate, but you’re only a PI.”

  Only a PI? Until recently I was simply a snoopy gal. Would he be more impressed with that?

  “I need your help so Eleanor can have some peace. And there’s the matter of her mother. This is the best place to start looking for her.” I tried for my best pleading look, and it must have worked.

  He sighed and sat forward. “I’ll take you to the library. You can look through the yearbooks there. Maybe they will be of help. But that’s all.” He signaled me to follow him out of his office. We headed down a hallway and then up a flight of stairs. A bell rang, signaling the end of a class period. Doors opened, and students streamed out into the hallway. Mr. Albert said something to me, but his words were lost in the
din.

  “Do you understand?” he asked.

  I nodded agreement to whatever he had said. I was anxious to begin my work. He opened a door and ushered me into a room filled with shelves of books and about twenty tables, each one with seats for eight students.

  “This is Mrs. Falco, our librarian. Ms. Appel is interested in looking at some of our yearbooks.” He did not explain why I needed the yearbooks, but Mrs. Falco, an older woman with curly gray hair, nodded and showed me to a table.

  “I’ll find them for you. What years?”

  I told her.

  “I’ll leave you to it. Just remember what I said,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  Mrs. Falco returned with the yearbooks, and she and Mr. Albert spoke for a moment. With a final warning glance, he left.

  “You must have worked here for a while. It didn’t take you any time to find those books,” I said.

  Her face softened a bit at my compliment.

  “Yes, for thirty-five years. I’m retiring this coming year.” She looked around the large room with nostalgia. “I’ll miss it.”

  “I’ll bet the kids will miss you. Did you ever think of how many children you touched in all those years? The woman who was the librarian in my school turned me on to Agatha Christie. She’s still one of my favorites.”

  This time her face lit up with a smile. “Oh, I love her too. I reread her when I have the time. I guess I’ll have more time soon.”

  A student approached us and tapped her on the shoulder. “I can’t find this book,” he said.

  “Did you try the return cart, Donald? I remember it just came back in this morning.” She scurried away to help the student locate the book.

  I had guessed correctly at Eleanor’s age, and the yearbooks chronicled her journey from freshman to senior. Or, I should say, would have chronicled her journey. The years were correct and her class pictures were there each year, but as for any school activities, Eleanor was missing. Individual pictures senior year listed club memberships, offices held, and one-line predictions for the student’s future such as “most likely to become a millionaire” or “headed for Hollywood.” Under Eleanor’s picture there were no club memberships or offices and the odd prediction, “When Turtle Girl comes out of her shell, what will she be?” I assumed she had kept to herself and was shy. Well, if she had come out of her shell, she’d emerged as a very odd girl indeed.