Brewed, Crude and Tattooed

by Sandra Balzo

  I pulled the coat closer around me and counted my blessings. Eric, not only here, but safe and sound as well. Pavlik. God, I wished he was here. Him and his buttery leather jacket. They’d know what to do.

  A boom of thunder brought me back to cold, dark reality.

  ‘Did you say the van is totaled?’

  ‘Kind of.’ Eric pointed to the nearest table. ‘Want to sit down? I need to talk to you about something.’

  Uh-oh.

  I must have looked startled because Eric hastened to reassure me. ‘It’s nothing to do with me, really. I just need some advice.’ He hesitated. ‘For a friend.’

  Uh-oh, squared. I thought I might need fortification for this.

  I eyed the coffee pot sitting on the heating element of the brewer. With no electricity, of course, the coffee would be as cold as the room. Still, it was coffee.

  I took a heavy white cup from the rack next to the cash register and poured myself half a cup. Then I opened the small refrigerator under the counter and took out a carton of cream. It was still cool, if not cold. I took a sniff. Smelled OK to me. I dumped a fair amount in the cup, stirred it and took a sip. It needed sweetening. I added Splenda and took a taste.

  Damn near perfect. Considering.

  Setting the coffee down on a table, I got Eric another energy drink and beckoned him over to me.

  I put the lantern down and we settled into the seats across from each other. ‘Give.’

  Eric played with the pop-top of the drink he held in his hands. ‘So I have a friend―’

  I interrupted. ‘You don’t have to use the “friend” thing. Just tell me. It’ll be OK.’

  He looked affronted. ‘But I do have a friend.’

  ‘I’m sure you have lots of friends, Sweetie.’ I put my hand on his.

  ‘Can it, Mom.’

  Ahh, there was the son I knew and loved. Most of the time.

  ‘This isn’t about me.’ He was getting downright ornery all of a sudden.

  ‘All right.’ I waited.

  He broke the pop-top right off the can and, irritated, winged it across the store. The aluminum top hit the front window and fell to the floor.

  ‘Eric, you know better than that,’ I snapped. ‘Pick it up.’

  Why this was so important to me I didn’t know. The ceiling might come crashing down on us at any moment. One pop-top among the ruins wasn’t going to make a whole lot of difference.

  ‘Will not,’ Eric snapped back. He stood up. ‘I don’t even know why I try to talk to you.’

  And with that, he stomped out of the shop.

  I sat for a second. God, I was bad at this. No wonder Eric had never told me he was gay. I was too busy telling him to pick up his dirty socks.

  And yet, there was something reassuring in the exchange.

  I’d been being careful with Eric - and Eric, with me - all day. Just now, though, we’d been...normal. Eric had told me that he was gay and then we’d moved on. He felt secure enough to be himself. And I’d done the same.

  I just wished ‘myself’ was a better listener.

  With a sigh, I got up and took a pen from the coffee mug turned pencil holder next to our cash register. As long as I had the benefit of silence, I might as well try once again to organize my thoughts.

  I looked around for paper. Nothing out here in the store, but there would be plenty in the office.

  Unfortunately, Caron had locked that door.

  So what would I write on? A napkin was more appropriate for passing phone numbers in bars than for memorializing deductive reasoning.

  I opened the cabinet door. Inside, the checklist of duties I’d written up when our store opened. A scot over a year before.

  A year. And what would happen to us now? Starting over someplace new didn’t bear thinking about. Besides, Caron and I still hadn’t turned enough of a profit to allow us to pay ourselves more than a meager salary. How would we afford to rent - much less maybe outfit - a new space?

  Like I said, it didn’t bear thinking about just then. So I didn’t.

  Instead, I took the pen and checklist over to the table and sat down.

  I turned over the sheet so I could write on the back, then began to ponder. Ponderously, at that.

  To the best of my recollection, I’d figured that anyone but Caron, Sarah and me could have killed Way. It was a little more difficult to know where everyone was when Aurora died, since it was tougher to keep track of people in the pharmacy than it had been in Uncommon Grounds.

  I wrote down the names of my suspects, most of whom were also neighbors and friends. The life of a detective is a lonely one.

  I topped the list with my favorite nominee for the title of murderer: Naomi Verdeaux, who was neither neighbor nor friend. Now that I had an idea of who had opportunity, it was time to think about motive again.

  And motive was tough. Yes, Verdeaux could have found out that Way was seeing Aurora again and killed him in anger. And Aurora, too.

  Thing was, I didn’t think Naomi Verdeaux really cared for anyone except herself. She bedded men in order to get things from them. Essentially, she shtupps to conquer.

  But...killing the two people who could give her what she wanted, leaving only the one family member who wouldn’t - Oliver? It was stupid.

  Unless she was planning to shtupp Oliver, too. Her idea of an eighteenth birthday present for him.

  No, Verdeaux might have the nerve to kill, but she would never desecrate her precious coat by killing Aurora when the other woman was wearing it. Then again, maybe she wanted the coat back because it contained evidence that could implicate her.

  I restrained a high-pitched squeal of despair. Why was this so tough? Someone hated these people enough to kill them. But who?

  The problem was that I couldn’t imagine taking another human’s life except to protect Eric. And probably myself. OK, definitely myself.

  But read the newspaper articles, watch CNN’s television reports, and you know that people kill each other for lots of reasons. Suddenly an idea for categorizing the reasons as motives struck me.

  The Seven Deadly Sins: Pride, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath and...

  Oh, yeah. Envy. Like when I drove past my ex’s big house. To my credit, though, I haven’t killed him. Mostly, these days, I feel sorry for him.

  If Verdeaux had murdered Way and Aurora, I didn’t think it would be because of greed. She had better avenues available to her to achieve what she wanted by way of material goods. No, for her it would have to be pride. I wrote that sin down next to Verdeaux’s name.

  Pleased with myself, I moved on to the next name on my list. Jacque Oui.

  Naomi Verdeaux’s new store could well put Jacque’s off-site market out of business. But then he should have killed his ex-wife, not Way and Aurora.

  Verdeaux might have a point, though. Maybe Aurora, wearing Verdeaux’s coat, had been mistaken for her. Jacque killing both his ex-wife and Way out of anger, I might be able to understand. And it would be ‘wrath’.

  I liked this seven sins thing. Gave me a framework for my guesswork.

  Then there was Oliver. His father ignored him, but according to Verdeaux, Way was taking care of Oliver’s future. Of course, making your son a lifetime janitor at a strip mall paled in comparison to your dying - along with your ex-wife - thus leaving the mall to your son.

  So that meant Oliver’s motive would be greed. And maybe a touch of wrath and pride for good measure. Not to mention loyalty (not exactly a sin, granted) to Mrs G, who would be not only storeless but, without Goddard’s Pharmacy, homeless in the bargain.

  I really couldn’t see Mrs G killing Way or Aurora, though if she had, it probably would have been pride, maybe combined with wrath. Pride, in fearing she was going to be out on the street, and wrath, in hating for how the couple treated her surrogate grandson.

  Rudy was next on the list. He was the one tenant who didn’t mind leaving the mall. In fact, he apparently was in bed, figuratively and literally, wi
th Verdeaux. Had he killed Aurora, thinking she was Verdeaux? But if so, why kill Way first? I thought for a second and put down ‘envy’, with a little ‘lust’ thrown in.

  Tien. Nah, I couldn’t see it. Then again, if she did have a crush on Way... I thought for another few seconds and put down ‘lust’, only in tiny letters.

  Her father Luc was a more likely suspect. If Tien was threatened in some way, I thought her father would be capable - both physically and attitudinally - of killing to protect her. And, under those circumstances, I could see Tien lying to give her father an alibi.

  But why would Way and Aurora be a threat to Tien or to Luc? The closing of An’s was a shame and obviously a real blow to both of them. Still, Luc seemed to be looking at it philosophically, saying it was a chance for Tien to move on to a life of her own. And maybe one of his as well.

  Question was, did Luc mean it? I shrugged my shoulders and wrote down ‘pride’. I’d read somewhere that pride was the emotion that all the other sins stemmed from, so it became my fallback position.

  Last on the list was Bernie. Nah, again. Theoretically, I supposed it was possible that he’d snowshoed in earlier, killed Way and then waited around for hours to kill Aurora, backtrack to find Eric in the ditch and arrive at Benson Plaza.

  And if all that weren’t enough, the only possible motive would be that he thought Caron and Way were having an affair. Given that Bernie hadn’t killed the other man Caron had...seen, I didn’t give that theory much weight. Besides, Bernie genuinely loved the trollop and he’d have no motive for killing Aurora.

  And then, out of sight and out of mind, was the ‘mystery man’ who bowled me over when Frank went into defense mode.

  I sat back. When you came down to it, some people had a reason for wanting to be rid of Way. And some, Aurora. But...

  I stopped.

  Way had been meat-cleavered to death and then snow-blowed. I couldn’t be sure how Aurora had been killed, but whatever it was, it had to have penetrated the hood of the coat she was wearing.

  Luc and Tien had meat cleavers, Oliver a snow-blower. Rudy displayed all kinds of blades, Mrs G had kept her husband’s hunting rifle. Was this some vengeful re-enactment of Murder on the Orient Express? Had everybody lent a helping hand?

  Which was when my brave little lantern flickered its last and went out.

  Chapter 24

  I sat stock still. The snow outside created some light, but it didn’t penetrate far into the store. I felt for the lantern and, finding it, turned the switch off and then on again. Nothing. Apparently AA batteries don’t regenerate.

  Standing up, I closed my eyes, counted to ten and reopened them. Pupils properly dilated now, I could at least make out shapes. It wasn’t as good as even the dim emergency lights fueled by the generator, of course, but at least I could see my way to the door.

  Pulling it open and stepping into the hallway, matters didn’t improve much at all, light-wise. In fact, the hall was in total darkness. Still, I should be able to feel my way down past The Bible Store to Rudy’s.

  I figured touching and tapping my fingers along the wall would be easy and it was. Until the wall disappeared, and I fell into a void. The electrical closet. It was where the circuit breakers for the mall were located, along with the connection to the nonfunctional generator which had to be outside. But did it have to be nonfunctional?

  After Way started the generator, Rudy had come looking for gas to keep it going. Had he had found it or did the discovery of Way’s body divert...

  I was picturing Way’s body with the meat cleaver in it. The meat cleaver I had originally thought was the handle of a short shovel, just as Oliver and Caron had.

  And, in that instant, I knew who had killed Way and Aurora.

  A moment later, I also realized another person was in danger.

  Standing there in the dark, though, what was I going to be able to do about it?

  I searched in my pocket and found the second of my ‘Two for $4.99’ Stir Wars swizzle sticks. By the neon green glow I found my way out of the electrical closet and into the narrow - if not straight - service corridor.

  I crossed to the other side of the hall to avoid the small storage rooms and janitor’s closets. Despite my stir-stick, I still had to resume feeling my way along. As I passed The Bible Store, my hand landed on the knob.

  It moved. Only a quarter turn, maybe, but the door had been locked the last time I checked, which was just before I found Way’s body. I’d heard noises inside and, assuming someone was hurt, I’d tried to get in. I rubbed my shoulder in remembrance of my one and, believe me, only attempt to break down a door.

  Mindful of Luc’s earlier example, I first turned the knob and then pulled the door. It opened.

  When I’d found Frank pounding his furry head against the storeroom door of Uncommon Grounds, I figured the noise that I’d earlier thought was coming from The Bible Store next door was, indeed, Frank.

  Now I wasn’t so sure.

  I cautiously held the little stir-stick out in front of me, for all the good it did. Memo to file: a swizzle stick’s radius of ambient light is about five inches.

  I moved into the room and immediately tripped over something big on the floor.

  I said a word I don’t say in front of Eric, because I’d banged my shin against something. It was a good hurt, though, because it didn’t feel like a body.

  I shined the light down.

  A bicycle. What in...?

  No, wait...Two bikes.

  I stepped over the bikes and cautiously looked around. As in Uncommon Grounds, the reflection of the snow through the store windows improved visibility a bit.

  Using the white glow from outside, I moved to the antique oak table that held the cash register.

  And, sure enough, the money drawer was open and empty.

  Now, this didn’t necessarily scream robbery to me. Caron and I routinely left our register with its empty drawer out. That way, anyone scoping out the place could see, even from beyond the windows, that there was no money still in the shop. Why burgle a business that had already deposited its daily harvest at the bank?

  The Bible Store’s register, though, still had a few coins in it. And there was a ring of keys - evidently tossed carelessly - on the table. They’d been wet, because the beautifully restored wood underneath them showed the only milky watermark on its surface.

  I didn’t want to touch the keys, so I used my swizzle stick to shift them for a better look at the fob.

  Hyundai. And next to the car tag on the ring was a tiny charm. A red hat tied with a purple ribbon.

  These were Sophie’s keys. Sophie Daystrom, Red Hat Lady and owner of the Hyundai that had been vandalized this morning, apparently by two guys on bikes.

  Rubbing my shin, I figured I’d found their mode of transportation.

  Given all that had happened at Benson Plaza since my talk with Sophie, I had to reach back for the details of our conversation. She’d said the thieves had taken her keys. It looked now as though they’d used them to get in and rob the place. They’d also stashed their bikes, maybe because they figured the two-wheelers might be traced to them. Or, alternatively, because the robbers, like Pavlik and his Harley, couldn’t ride through the deepening snow.

  Now that I was looking for the right telltale signs I could see that the store’s drawers had been hastily opened and closed, just as the ones in Way’s office. I had no way of knowing what might have been taken here either, but Sophie ought to be able to help the police on that.

  Next, I turned my attention to the shelves lined with holy books of different types. They looked untouched except for one that had been knocked to the floor. There was a gap on one shelf big enough to have held another volume equal in thickness to the one at my feet.

  The thieves had taken a Bible?

  Chewing on that, I carefully stepped over the bicycles and let myself out of the store, leaving everything as I’d found it, except for the tickled keys.

  Trus
ty stir-stick in hand, I made my way to the barbershop door, where presumably all survivors and one murderer were passing their snowbound time.

  Then I kept going.

  Chapter 25

  Light by swizzle stick is not perfect, but it did get me to the door of An’s Foods without mishap, despite some minor debris in the service corridor.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d find inside, so I hesitated before knocking. Then, taking a deep breath and rapping my knuckles on the door, I called out.

  ‘Naomi?’

  A beat. ‘Are you in there?’

  Two beats. ‘Is there damage?’

  Verdeaux didn’t answer. Neither did the damage.

  Cracking open the door, I sidewinded across the threshold. I couldn’t see much by the light I held, but the flashes of lightning reflecting off the clouds and snow again penetrated enough to show me that the whole side of the store, the one closest to Goddard’s, had, indeed, collapsed. As I looked further, another ceiling tile fell to the floor shattering maybe a yard from where I was standing.

  What in the hell was I doing there?

  ‘Naomi?’ Same effort, same result.

  I hadn’t heard the woman referred to by her first name by anyone, except Caron when she was half in the bag. I wasn’t too sure I had standing to take notice, though, since I still called my boy-toy (or so I liked to imagine, though ‘fantasize’ was probably more accurate) Pavlik, instead of Jake.

  ‘Ms Verdeaux?’ Formality, but still nothing. I didn’t think trying ‘Hey, Predatory Manipulative Slut’ would garner a response either.

  The big locker/freezer where we had consigned Way and Aurora was on the back wall of the store, behind the meat counter and deli. Both the locker and the counter appeared to be intact, but I approached cautiously, keeping an eye out for falling objects. Oh, and murderers. Not to mention Bible-stealing, bicycle-riding bandits.

  I hadn’t stopped at the barbershop, because I couldn’t chance alerting the killer. In retrospect, that might have been short-sighted.

  Safely to the deli section, I slipped behind the counter. The freezer door was closed tight, so if Verdeaux was still in the market she was huffing pretty frosty air.