by Susie Gayle
“Come on, Will. You don’t drop a car on a guy and hope to just hurt him a bit.”
Well, he’s got a point.
“Regardless,” I say, “the chief told me to stay away from it.”
There’s silence on the other line for a few moments as Sammy thinks. “Did she say that you couldn’t… offer your condolences to Carla?”
I sigh. “No. She didn’t say that. I guess I’ll go there next.”
“Thanks, Will, you’re the best.” He sighs. “It’s Friday. Me and Jerry used to play racquetball on Friday. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later.”
Once I end the call with him I ring Sarah at the shop and fill her in on the details. It usually helps to run things past someone like her, because she thinks of the things I don’t.
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” she says, coming through just as I’d hoped. “If Garrett did it, why would he just go upstairs to his room and pretend to be asleep—or worse, actually go to sleep? It would take a real sociopath to do something like that. I would think that a normal person would flee the scene, go somewhere public… try to establish an alibi.”
“That’s an excellent point,” I tell her. “But we don’t know enough about Garrett to make that assumption.”
“True. What’s next?”
“I’m going to talk to Carla and see if there’s anything at all that she can add that might help. Sometimes people don’t know what they know, you know?”
“Call me after.”
“I will.” I hang up my cell phone and start the car to head over to Jerry’s house.
***
Jerry lived in a yellow split-level on the west side of town, within walking distance from the edge of Seaview Rock. I remember him being particularly proud that he managed to retain the house in the wake of his divorce a few years earlier. (Some guys get all the luck. When I split with Karen, she got the house and promptly sold it to pay for her place in Portland.) I wonder what will happen to it now, considering that he and Carla were only dating.
I park about a half a block away, but even from here I can see Carla’s car at the bottom of the driveway, and beyond it, the open garage door cordoned off with yellow caution tape. The garage is empty; Garrett’s car must have been towed to the police impound lot.
I take a deep breath, get out of the car and head toward the house, but then I pause when I see a familiar face heading my way from the opposite direction.
The two of us meet halfway, at the bottom of Jerry’s driveway, each mirroring the other’s confused glance.
“Tony,” I say, “what are you doing here?”
“Ey, Will. I was about to ask you the same.” His black mustache twitches. Instead of his usual gray jumpsuit, he wears a hooded sweatshirt and jeans.
“I asked you first,” I insist.
“Fair ‘nough. The old man closed the shop today because of what happened to Jerry. Except I don’t think it was an accident. I think someone did it to him. I aim to figure out who.”
“Oh,” I say, somewhat surprised. “Did Sammy ask you to do it?”
“Sammy? Heck, no. I just want to know who killed my pal.” He looks me over and adds, “Your turn.”
“Okay. I agree that it doesn’t seem like an accident, and I’m also looking into who killed Jerry.”
“Why?” He narrows his eyes at me and asks, “Did Sammy ask you to do it?”
Obviously. “He did,” I tell him. “They were good friends, him and Jerry.”
Tony nods sadly. “I know.”
“Do you know that the police took Garrett into custody?”
He nods again. “I heard. But to be honest, that feels…”
“Too easy?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what I said.”
Tony shakes his head. “I got a kid of my own around Garrett’s age. He goes to school in New York. Can’t imagine what Carla must be going through.”
“So you came here to talk to her, see if she knows anything that could help?”
“Bingo. But since we’re both here, maybe we should both go,” Tony suggests.
“Uh… you know, maybe I should go in alone,” I tell him. “Nothing personal, but sometimes you come off as a little… brusque.”
He stiffens visibly. “Brusque? What are you talkin’ about, brusque?” Then his shoulders slump a little and he mutters, “Okay, I see what you mean. I’ll wait out here; you’ll tell me what she says?”
“Every word.”
He nods. “You’re a good pal, Will.”
I force a smile and head up the driveway. People keep telling me that, but I don’t always feel like it.
CHAPTER 7
* * *
Tony heads back to his truck, parked about a half-block in the opposite direction, and sits in the cab while I head up the walkway to talk to Carla. My finger is poised to ring the doorbell when the door swings open, and Carla—looking very surprised to see me—takes a step back.
“Will, what are you doing here?” Her eyes are red with dark bags beneath them; I’m guessing she didn’t get much sleep last night, and has obviously been crying.
“I, uh, just wanted to stop by and express my condolences,” I tell her. “About Jerry.”
“That’s very nice of you, but you’ll have to wait for the funeral,” she says. “I have to go down to the courthouse for Garrett’s preliminary hearing and hope that the judge will set bail.” She shakes her head. “He has priors, so I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Um, can I ask what priors he has?”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because…” Honesty is the best policy, isn’t it? “Carla, let me be frank: I don’t think Garrett did what they’re saying he did.”
“Why do you think that?” she asks candidly.
“Because… you know. He’s just a kid. And to do that, and stick around the crime scene, I mean—he’d have to be a sociopath, wouldn’t he?”
“So you don’t think my son was responsible for Jerry’s death, even though you don’t know him, and you’re… what, exactly? Investigating on your own?” She cranes her neck past me and asks, “And is that Tony’s truck parked down there? What’s he doing here?”
“I…”
“Listen, Will, I think it’s nice of you to stop by, and even nicer to advocate on Garrett’s part. But let’s be real here. The only thing that’s going to save him is finding hard evidence that it wasn’t him.” She sniffs once and adds, “It doesn’t look good. Ever since me and his father divorced, he’s been lashing out more and more. In the past year alone, he’s been caught breaking and entering, underage drinking, and fighting. Each time, Patty’s given him a slap on the wrists—but this is too big.” She sniffs again and blinks back some tears. “You know, when I got home last night from my shift at the hospital and found Jerry, the first thing I did was call 911. The second thing I did was check the house for Garrett. He was sleeping in his room, and he had his music on. He hadn’t heard a thing. But even when I told him what happened, his reaction was… how can I put it? It was lackluster.” She shrugs. “He didn’t like Jerry and I don’t think he’s upset that he’s dead. That’s not going to look good for him. Not at all.”
“I’m really sorry, Carla.”
She steps out onto the porch and locks the front door behind her. “I have to go.” She strides past me, down the driveway and into her car.
After she pulls away, Tony gets out of his truck and joins me at the bottom of the driveway.
“So what’d she say?” he asks eagerly. “Does she know anything?”
“Nothing helpful,” I tell him somberly. “Hey, Tony, let me ask you. Put yourself in Garrett’s shoes for a second. Let’s say you did it; you kicked the car and the jack tipped and crushed Jerry. What would you do?”
“Me?” He scoffs. “I’d be in North Dakota by now. I’d change my name to Sven and live in the mountains herding goats or something.”
�
�Yeah. Me, too. Well, not the goats part, but I’d be as far away from here as I could. So why would he stick around then? That’s not throwing any suspicion off of him.”
“Doesn’t add up.”
“No, it doesn’t. I’m not sure where I’m going to go with this next, but I’m invested now. I plan to see this through.”
“I do, too,” Tony says. “Hey, maybe we can divide and conquer. Share information and see if we can’t figure this thing out together.”
“Alright, deal,” I agree. “If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
“And I’ll do the same.” We shake on it.
As I’m heading back to my car, Tony calls out. “Oh, Will. You said you have a lawyer, right?”
I turn back, thrown by the question. “Huh?”
“Like, a business lawyer, to draft up contracts and stuff.”
“Oh. Yeah, I do.”
“Cool. Do you think you can put me in touch with him? I’m getting everything together for the franchise. With Jerry gone, I really don’t think I can stay there much longer.”
“Sure thing, Tony,” I tell him. “Oh, and it’s her.”
“Her?”
“The lawyer, it’s a her. I’ll get you the number.”
“Great. Thanks, Will.”
***
Unsure of where to go next, I head back to the Pet Shop Stop. At least I can take a breather, bounce some ideas off of Sarah, and figure out what my next step should be. More than anything I just wish that Sammy would be more forthcoming with whatever he knows or thinks he knows. That’s an angle to this mystery I haven’t yet even begun to unravel: what’s his part in all this?
I walk into the shop and let out a long, deflating sigh. Karen is there, chatting idly with Sarah near the counter. They both smile at me when I enter.
“Hi Will,” Karen says.
“Hello, Karen.” I don’t even try to sound enthusiastic.
“I was just talking to Sarah about stealing her away from you for another night out next week,” she adds. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I force a smile, reminding myself not to be petty. “Sarah, can I talk with you a moment?”
“Sure.” We retreat to the back office, a tiny closet-like room that also serves as overstock space, so we have to stand almost nose-to-nose.
“I went and spoke with Carla,” I tell her.
“Wait, before you say anything, I just want to tell you that you were right,” she says.
“Right about what?”
“I understand that we can’t keep Basket. We’ve got too much going on, and I know you’re stressed already about possibly taking those classes, and we just don’t need the added strain of a baby kitty.”
“Wow. Thank you for understanding. I know it’s not easy for you.”
“That’s why Karen is here,” she admits. “I figured that maybe she could take Basket in; she adopted Pookie from us.” She frowns. “Unfortunately, her apartment building only allows one pet.”
“Oh. Well, we’ll keep looking.” I give her a reassuring hug.
“Okay. Now you go,” she says.
“Right. So I went to talk with Carla Kunkle; it wasn’t great. She thinks that Garrett is going to be charged unless the cops find evidence that it wasn’t him.”
“That’s no good. Poor kid.”
“And poor Carla. First Jerry, and now it looks like she might lose Garrett, too—”
“Carla Kunkle?” Karen asks from somewhere nearby.
I peer out of the tiny room to find Karen leaning against the wall, inspecting her fingernails.
“Are you eavesdropping?”
“Yeah, a little,” she admits. “What’s wrong with Carla? I just saw her last night.”
“What do you mean, you saw her last night?”
“After me and Sarah left Holy Frijole, I stopped by Better Latte Than Never for a hot chocolate. I saw her there. She was with, uh, um, what’s his name…” She snaps her fingers a few times. “Uh… Blake. Yeah.”
“Blake… her ex-husband?” I ask.
“Yeah. Why? Is that weird?”
“Yes, Karen. That’s weird,” Sarah says, as she and I exchange a worried glance.
CHAPTER 8
* * *
“So she was actually at the coffee shop,” I tell Sammy excitedly, “when she said she was at the hospital finishing a shift!” I pace the barber shop floor. “And guess who she was there with.”
“Her ex-husband?” he asks, sweeping dark hair into a small pile on the floor.
“Uh… yeah. How’d you know that?”
“I didn’t know that. I just figured it was the most likely person, considering how you charged in here all jazzed up.”
As soon as Karen delivered the news about spotting Carla last night, I had grabbed my coat and hurried down to the shop to tell Sammy about it. Luckily he has no customers at the moment; just the two retired regulars, Frank and Marcus, both of whom like to spend their afternoons sitting in the barber shop and listening to gossip (which is why I’m careful to avoid using names like “Carla” or “Jerry,” just in case).
“Well, thanks for stealing my thunder,” I tell Sammy. “But don’t you see? That means she was lying about where she was—which could mean any number of things.”
“Like maybe her and the ex were messing around behind Jerry’s back? Maybe they were planning to get back together or something?” Sammy suggests. “But could that lead a person to do… that thing that happened?” He throws a furtive glance toward the retirees, who both pretend to read newspapers while they eavesdrop.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “And there’s another problem with that theory: Why on earth would she let her son take the fall?” I shake my head. It doesn’t make sense. If Carla or Blake had anything to do with Jerry’s death, there’s no way they’d try to pin it on their only child. “I just thought you should know about it,” I tell Sammy. “I’m going to head to the coffee shop and see if I can’t get any answers.”
“Good idea.” He looks up at the clock. “Huh. It’s three. Normally on Fridays I’d be closing the shop early and heading to the rec center to play racquetball with Jerry.”
“And I’ll have to call Tony,” I continue, pacing the shop floor. “He’s doing his own thing parallel to mine; we promised to share info.” Suddenly I look up and frown at Sammy. “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned racquetball. What gives?”
He just shrugs. “I like racquetball.”
I stare at him for a while. He stares blankly back.
“So there’s nothing more you want to tell me?” I ask him.
“Nope.”
I grunt in frustration. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later.”
***
I call Tony as I head over to the coffee shop and I tell him what I found out. He calls Carla a few choice words that make me wince.
“Hey, come on now,” I say. “We don’t know anything for sure.”
“We know for sure that she lied, not only to us but to the cops, too,” Tony counters.
“Okay, that’s true.”
“What do you want to bet that they were sneaking around on poor ol’ Jer?”
“I don’t want to bet anything. I want to find out the truth. I’m heading to the coffee shop now; I’ll be in touch.”
I hang up. This seems like my obvious next move, but I can’t dismiss Sammy’s cryptic mentions of racquetball. I’ve known him long enough that I should’ve realized he was trying to tell me something the first time he brought it up; any idiot could say the same after three times.
I enter Better Latte Than Never to find a bored-looking young woman managing the counter. She greets me halfheartedly and asks what I’d like.
“Good afternoon. I’d like to know who was working the closing shift last night.”
“One moment,” she mutters. Then she suddenly shouts, “Ham!”
A gawky kid with sandy ha
ir comes out from the back room in a black apron with the shop’s logo on it. He grins wide when he sees me. “Hey Will, long time no see!”
“Ham? You work here now?” Hammond Dobes is, as far as I’m aware, the bagger at the general store in town. He took a year off from school to save up for college. He and I have a bit of history on account of him nearly being accused of murder back in October.
“Oh, don’t worry. I still work at Miller’s,” he assures me, as if my world would end if he wasn’t bagging my groceries every Sunday. “I picked up some part-time shifts here to save more money.”
“Great,” I tell him. “Listen, did you close the shop last night?”
“Sure did. Why?”
“There was a couple here. A woman with dark hair, probably in nurse’s scrubs, and—”
“And a tall guy with blond hair? Yeah. They were here.” He rolls his eyes. “They were here almost all night.”
“They were?”
He nods. “We’re supposed to close at eleven, but those two stayed until almost midnight,” he says. “I tried to tell them I had to lock up, but they were in a pretty heated conversation. I didn’t want to get in the middle of it.”
“You’re absolutely certain they were both here that late?” I ask.
“Definitely. They left about two minutes before I did. You can check my time card.”
“No, that’s okay, Ham. Thanks. Uh… any idea what they were talking about?”
“I was mostly trying to avoid them, but they were definitely blaming each other for something. They kept saying ‘he,’ so I guess they were talking about a guy—maybe a son? And then they argued about money for a while.”
“Okay. Thanks, Ham.” I head out of the coffee shop. That didn’t really help much; in fact, I’m right back to square one. Carla and Blake might have been meeting secretly, but they have an airtight alibi for the time of Jerry’s death.
I get back into my car and drum on the steering wheel for a while. Think, Will. The most logical thing to do would be to call Patty and tell her that Carla lied… but what good would that do? Carla obviously didn’t kill Jerry, and Patty might arrest her for falsifying her story. Then there’s the racquetball thing. What is Sammy trying to tell me? I suppose the rec center is the next obvious step—either that or talking to Carla again to confront her about the lie.
