He answered, “Stormy Day! Thank God it’s you. Are you at your house?”
“Yes, I’m at home. Why? Do you want to meet somewhere to talk about... recent events?”
“Sorta. I’m at House of Bean right now. Hang on.” The sound muffled, but I could hear him talking to someone. “Chad, what’s that new drink on the menu all about?”
Chad, my formerly least-favorite coffee barista who had worked himself up into my good graces, replied, “Do you mean the Stormy Day? It’s a latte with vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of chili pepper.”
“Give me two of those,” Kyle said. “Mountain sized, and put a goat on it.” To me, clearer, he said, “I’ll be at your house in ten minutes.”
“Do I even want to know what ’put a goat on it’ means?”
“You’ll find out,” he said cheerfully.
Chapter 35
Apparently, “put a goat on it" means add whipped cream. The House of Bean didn’t use goat’s milk, just regular cow’s milk. They came up with the term “put a goat on it" because the swirling pyramid of whipped cream resembled, at least to the coffee shop’s manager, an upside-down billy goat’s gruff.
Officer Kyle Dempsey sat across my kitchen table from me and sipped his frothy drink from the House of Bean takeout cup.
“You don’t like yours?” he asked.
I frowned at the whipped cream, which was dotted with colored sprinkles. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t taken a sip yet, as you can tell by my lack of milk moustache. Yours is coming in nicely, by the way.”
Kyle turned on his dimples and licked the streak of whipped cream off his upper lip.
“Try your Stormy Day,” he said. “And cheer up. Not everyone gets a drink named after them.”
“What if I don’t like myself? I’m not to everyone’s taste.” I pushed the cup away. “It’s too much pressure. Plus it looks sweet. I had ice cream last night, and I didn’t go jogging today.”
“Let me help you out.” He chugged the remainder of his beverage and then grabbed my cup and started on mine. “No more pressure. Better now?”
I breathed a dramatic sigh of relief and got myself a fresh cup of regular coffee.
“Do you have the day off?” I asked. He wasn’t in uniform and looked ready for a day at the lake in a light-blue golf shirt that matched his bright eyes. He wore stylish jeans and a pair of leather sandals that revealed his toes. My eyes kept going to his feet, to the pale-gold hairs that dotted the knuckle of his big toe.
“Maybe I’m working undercover,” he said. “This is how I dress for dog shows. I’m working on a very important dog paternity case. The fate of the whole town depends on me tracing the lineage of a litter of chiweenie puppies.”
I laughed. “You heard about that?”
“I heard you solved the case. You didn’t give up when it got tough. You didn’t jump at the easy solution.” His dimples disappeared as his expression grew serious.
“You don’t think Tim Barber killed Dieter Koenig and then committed suicide out of guilt?”
“Nope, and neither do you.” He tilted his head to the side and scratched his neck along the edge of the bandages that extended from his injured shoulder. “The glue on these bandages is really pulling my skin, but the cuts don’t hurt at all. Funny how sometimes the cure is worse than the poison.”
“What does Tony say?” I added, “About the case, not your bandages.”
“He’s happy to close the case. I guess he’s had a few run-ins with Tim Barber over the years, and they weren’t exactly pals. He says Tim was crazier than bugjuice and he probably oiled up the diving board because the voices in his head made him do it.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, fluffing up the back as I considered the scenario. “Tim Barber had access to oil up the board, and he would have known Dieter’s schedule,” I said. “He might have hidden in the hedges surrounding the pool to watch his plot come together. Maybe Sunday morning wasn’t even his first attempt. He could have been oiling up the board for weeks, just hoping for a freak accident.”
“Then he ran off when you and Sanderson showed up,” Kyle said. “The old guy must have been in great shape to outrun your boyfriend. Sanderson looks fit, but it’s hard to tell when a guy’s wearing a suit. Would you say he’s... athletic?” As though competing for some imaginary muscle prize, Kyle flexed his tanned, golden-hair-dotted biceps.
“Tim Barber had a big head start,” I said. “He was headed in the direction of the airstrip and just disappeared.”
“Rumor is they’ve got a tunnel back there. It runs between the hangar and an old fallout shelter.”
“A fallout shelter?” I blinked in disbelief. “Those rich people have a butler, a swimming pool, and a fallout shelter? Not fair.”
“Do you want to come with me and check it out? Rumor is the shelter’s fully stocked for any disaster.”
I sipped my coffee before answering, “Just me, you, a bunker full of canned goods, and a couple of end-of-the-world cots? Kyle, you know I’m already taken. You shouldn’t be taking me on romantic dates.”
“How about searching for clues?”
“I’ll bring my magnifying glass.”
“What?”
“It just seemed like the thing to say when a person agrees to some unofficial sleuthing.” I looked down. I had a cat on my lap. I hadn’t noticed Jeffrey jumping up, but he looked quite comfortable.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this whole thing,” Kyle said.
“Did you hear back about the DNA yet? From the baby soother?”
“These things take time,” he said.
“Can’t you put a rush on it? The results could be really important.”
He gave me a look that implied I ought to know better. “Stormy, we don’t take people’s DNA for kicks and giggles. Almost everything the lab receives is urgent.” He glanced around the kitchen and living room, stopping when his gaze landed on my laptop. “Now, are you going to share information with me, or is it all under lock and key?”
“There are a few things I can’t divulge yet,” I said. “But it’s minor stuff, and it’ll come out in the next few days.” I winced inwardly about lying. Dieter Koenig willing everything to his new bride, plus her kicking the sons out on the street, wasn’t exactly minor.
“I’m guessing, by what you’re saying, that there will be some revelations at the reading of the will,” Kyle said knowingly.
I stared ahead blankly. “Oh?”
He nodded. “Your poker face needs work.”
“We’re not playing poker.”
He put both elbows on the table and leaned forward, studying me intently. “Tim Barber always worked Sundays,” he said. “Every Sunday for the last ten years.”
“Why are you telling me this? I thought it had already been established that he was there that day, even though he’d booked it off. I saw him myself, running from the pool area.”
“On the Sunday that Dieter Koenig died, Tim Barber did have the day off. It’s all marked on the staff calendar. He wasn’t supposed to be there on Sunday, for the first time in years. Pretty suspicious, don’t you think?”
“What did he allegedly have the day off for? Are you saying he wasn’t there after all? That he has an alibi?”
“These are all good questions,” Kyle said. “Now grab your sleuthing kit and let’s be on our way.”
Chapter 36
"I’m really glad you called me,” Kyle said.
“Funny you should say that. I’m just starting to have regrets,” I said.
I strapped myself into the passenger seat of Kyle’s bright-blue Jeep and looked around me for safety features. If we got ourselves into another high-speed chase, I would need something to cling to or a way to make a hasty exit. The Jeep had a black roll bar as well as a zippered, removable soft top, so I was good either way.
He started the engine, reached for the shifter, and paused. “Stormy, you can drive, if you want. I’d understand if you didn’t trust
my abilities after what happened Tuesday.”
“No, you drive. I’m always the chauffeur when I go sleuthing, and it’s nice to be the chauffee. Is that a word?”
“Sure, it is. But it’s pronounced chauffée, and it means heated or warmed up in French.”
I gave him a look of admiration. “Aren’t you Mr. Smartypants?”
“Most of my family’s bilingual, French Canadian. We weren’t allowed to watch TV when we were growing up, but my mother let me and my brother listen to audiobooks or spoken-word albums. Our relatives in Quebec sent us French-language CDs of just about anything we showed an interest in.”
We turned off my street and headed toward the Koenig Estate.
He continued, “Some of my older cousins sent us some pretty crazy stuff. My brother, Julian, got me into this sci-fi series, about the Planet Toadonx. Whoever did the French translation on the audiobooks sounded like he was trying not to laugh half the time. There was some seriously messed-up stuff, like people getting it on with space vixens and tentacle monsters.”
Laughing, I said, “It’s a good thing your parents didn’t have a TV, then. Who knows how you might have turned out if you’d been exposed to syndicated sitcoms and The Price Is Right.”
“I should re-read that sci-fi series,” he said. “Benjamin Biggs is always talking about it. I won’t go crazy like he did, though. I’d never try to recreate the toxins from the book. Mainly because I don’t know the first thing about chemistry.”
“You’re still in contact with Benji? Did you guys become pen pals after everything that happened at the Flying Squirrel?”
“Haven’t you heard? Benji’s moved back to town. His aunt and uncle let him set up a games room at their gas station.”
“No way,” I said.
“Yes way. You can go in and buy Magic the Gathering cards from Benji, at his special counter. He’ll buy and sell rares for a fair price, and just when you think you’ve got a good deck, he’ll play against you and bring on a world of hurt.”
“I had no idea,” I said.
“Yeah, he just moved back a few weeks ago.”
“No, I mean I had no idea Kyle Dempsey was a giant ultra-nerd.”
He snorted. “We prefer the term geek. And geeks are the new chic, don’t you know? All the big blockbuster movies these days are about superheroes.”
“So, you geeks are the ones to blame for the lack of good romantic comedies?”
He turned his head away from the road and grinned at me. “Stormy, you don’t need those movies. Your whole life is a romantic comedy.”
“More like a dramedy. That’s drama plus comedy.”
He kept grinning. “You’re still a superhero to me.”
I pointed at the Jeep’s flat windshield. “Keep your eyes on the road, geek. Let’s not turn this dramedy into a tragedy.”
We got to the Koenig Mansion and rang the doorbell. Kyle had spoken with Erica Garcia earlier that morning, so she was expecting us. Instead of her usual gray maid outfit, she was wearing black.
“I’m so sorry about Tim,” I said.
She hugged me, trembling as she suppressed a sob. “Thank you, Miss Day,” she said, her accent thick. “Tim had his troubles, but he was a very sweet man. He didn’t hurt Mr. Koenig. I know what people are saying, what they are thinking, and it can’t be true.”
I patted her back. “I believe you,” I said.
“He was confused,” she said. “He only shot himself because he must have believed something that wasn’t true.”
I caught Kyle’s eye over the maid’s shoulder. He nodded to let me know he’d heard. Erica believed Tim Barber shot himself, but not that he had anything to do with Mr. Koenig’s death.
“Tim was so sweet, so kind, so funny,” she said. “And he loved the family. He was like an uncle to the boys. They are both very sad today. We are all so sad.”
“And we’re very sorry to intrude during this time of grief,” I said.
Kyle added, “But we are here to help.”
Erica pulled away from me, tears in her eyes. “And you will help. You will fix everything so that the spirits may rest.”
I nodded. “We’ll do our best.”
Erica clutched the medallion at her neck. “Bless you,” she said and led us through the home toward the courtyard. I didn’t hear a single noise except for birds chirping.
“It feels like we’re the only ones around for miles,” I commented.
“Almost,” she said. “Things are very quiet today. Verity is taking a day to grieve in private.”
“What about the butler?” I asked. “Randy?”
“We’re supposed to call him Randall,” Erica said. “But we never do. We always call him Randy. He is not here right now because he’s driving the boys around today. They had some errands, I think.”
“The boys?” I asked. “You mean Drake and Brandon?”
“Yes. It’s what we always call them, even though they are grown men.” She pushed open two glass-paned doors and led us out to the pool area. “And now it is time for the boys to grow up. Things will be changing around here.”
More than you know, I thought.
I asked, “Erica, does Randy always drive for Brandon and Drake?”
“Only when it’s both of them going out together somewhere.” Her tears had dried, and a tiny smile appeared on her lips. “Those two fight so much, one won’t be in the car if the other one is driving.”
I shot Kyle a look. If Randall had been driving one Koenig brother on Tuesday, chances were he had a matching set.
Kyle asked, “Was Randy driving the boys around on Tuesday afternoon?”
“Probably,” she said. “They weren’t around the house.” Her eyes went to the bandages visible above the collar of his shirt. “Officer Dempsey, are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“You didn’t hear about my little mishap?”
Erica shook her head. “I haven’t talked to people that much. Too many questions. I just want to be alone.”
Kyle walked over to the pool. It had been emptied of water and looked perilously, dangerously deep.
“That looks scary,” Kyle said as he approached the rim and looked down. “I hope you’ll be filling this with water again soon, and not just because we’re running out of good swimming weather.”
“Randy is cleaning the pool,” Erica said. “You know what’s funny? We have all these fancy filters and machines to clean the water, and they work really good. By Monday morning, you would never know that somebody died in there the day before, with all that blood everywhere. It looked clean in the morning. Like it never happened.”
I shuddered as the image of Randy, Verity, and Erica trying to resuscitate Dieter Koenig flashed in my mind.
Erica continued, “But Randy said we have to clean the pool better.” She sniffed and touched the edge of her eye with her knuckle. Her tears weren’t dried up after all. “Randy loved Mr. Koenig. We all did.” She stood at the edge of the pool and started to sob.
Kyle reached out and pulled her back. She hurled herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest. He didn’t exactly hug her so much as he held still and moved his arms so she could support herself with them.
Though her voice was muffled, I heard her saying she wasn’t ready for work, yet she couldn’t stay home and upset her son, either. Kyle spoke soothingly and with kindness.
After a few minutes, he got her to smile by saying, “Ms. Garcia, when I told you to get the pool filled up again, I didn’t mean with your tears.”
Once she’d dried her tears again, Erica asked us what we wanted to see next.
“The bunker,” Kyle said.
“What bunker?” She blinked a few times. “Do you mean the hidey-hole?”
“If that’s what you call it, sure.”
“Why would you want to go down there?” She looked genuinely confused. “Nothing is down there, and it’s so dark and spooky.”
“Humor me,” he said. “Please?”
She smiled slowly. “Since you asked so nicely, how can I say no?” We backtracked to go around the hedge and headed away from the house. Erica muttered to herself about spooky tunnels and the perils of being too curious.
“It’s through here,” she said, leading us into the groundskeeping shed that had been used by Tim Barber. The modest wood outbuilding held a workbench, tools, gardening supplies, two lawnmowers, and, hidden under an old rug, one trapdoor that led to a tunnel.
“I don’t go down there,” Erica said, shaking her head. “Down there are the things with too many legs.” She kept shaking her head. “And the darkness that watches you, with all its eyes.”
Kyle said, “You’re really selling us on this bunker.”
She pulled a key from her pocket and handed it to Kyle. “Here, you’ll need this to get through the doors.”
“You’re not coming with us?” he asked.
She shook her head vigorously. “I have to go back to the house. Will you close up everything when you’re done?”
We promised her we would, and she left us to the trapdoor and dark tunnel.
Kyle started to pull open the trapdoor, but I told him to wait. “Let’s look around this shed a bit more,” I said. “This was basically Tim Barber’s office, so it should tell us more about the guy.”
He agreed, and we started poking around. I was excited to tell Logan that he’d been right about Tim disappearing on him during the chase. He’d not vanished into thin air, but it must have appeared that way when he ducked into the shed and disappeared down into the tunnel.
“Look at this,” Kyle said, nodding for me to come look at a note taped to a lawnmower. It was a tiny scrap of paper with a handwritten note describing the mix ratio for the machine’s fuel.
“Looks like a normal fuel mix note to me,” I said.
“But the note’s so tiny, you can hardly see it,” he said.
As we continued the search of the shed, we found a dozen other similar notes, all equally small and affixed to equipment and supplies with tape.
I commented, “It’s like Tim never heard of a Post-It note.”
Death of a Modern King Page 18
