by Harper Lin
Sammy held down the fort at the café. It would be a few weeks before I was really able to work normally. I called her every day to check on things, but she seemed to be doing well on her own. She mobilized our battery of part-timers to work the middle of the day and came in herself for open and close. I was glad my mother had trained her so well.
Still, I was itching to get back to my investigation. Every time Matt took me out, I kept my eyes peeled for men with canes. Whenever I saw someone, I’d make a note on my phone about who it was or what they looked like. I tried to pay particular attention to shoes and canes, since that was what I saw the day I fell, but it was hard to see those things when we were driving by. What I’d seen as I tried to catch my balance hadn’t been that detailed anyway—just heavy black shoes and a brown wood cane with a black rubber bottom. Not exactly a unique or unusual combination. When Matt asked what I kept doing on my phone, I told him it was ideas for the café. I felt bad about lying to him, but I knew he’d have thoughts on the matter if I told him the truth. I didn’t think he really believed me anyway.
My biggest problem was that I had so many names and descriptions of possible murder/tripping suspects and no way to narrow the list down. The only way I could think of to home in on the culprit was to figure out who had a connection to Mr. Cardosi. To do that, I needed Matt. But Matt didn’t want me pursuing the investigation anymore. I had to figure out a way to get him to support my sleuthing. I probably spent as much time thinking about that as I did actually thinking about the case.
We were sitting in my living room one night as we’d gotten in the habit of doing—him in my grandfather’s chair, me on the couch with my leg propped up, Latte curled up on the floor next to me. It had been several days since my accident and several days since Matt and I had last discussed my investigation. It had also been several days since I’d heard anything from Mike about my assailant. I was beyond antsy.
As the TV show we were watching went to commercial, I heaved a big sigh. It seemed like an effective but subtle way to get Matt’s attention without seeming as though that was what I was trying to do.
He sat up in his chair. “Are you okay? Is your leg okay? Do you need anything?” He had been that concerned and considerate since I got hurt.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I sighed.
“Then what’s with the huffing and puffing?”
“It’s just kind of frustrating that it’s been almost a week and we haven’t heard anything from Mike yet about who pushed me down the stairs.”
“Investigations take time. Just think how I feel not knowing anything about who killed my dad.”
“I know, I know.” If you’d just help me narrow down my suspects, maybe we wouldn’t have to wait for Mike. But I couldn’t say that out loud. Instead I said, “I just keep seeing men with canes while we’re out, and I can’t help but think that one of them is the one who tripped me. Some of them I know, some of them I don’t, but one of them was perfectly willing to kill me and may very well have killed your dad. How am I supposed to go about my life knowing that he could be planning to try to kill me again?”
“You want to start your investigation again, don’t you?” I took a breath to answer him, but he barely paused before going on. “That’s what you’ve been doing on your phone, isn’t it? Taking notes about potential suspects?”
I nodded. Matt exhaled sharply but didn’t say anything. The show we were watching came back on, but neither of us really paid any attention.
After a few minutes, Matt spoke. “Who do you have in mind?”
My heart pounded. I couldn’t believe he was actually asking. This was such a good sign! “I only know a few of them.”
“Who are they? Tell me the ones you know, and we can figure out the ones you don’t know later.”
I took a deep breath. “The ones I know: Don Sampson, Jack Newman, Paul Hamilton, Pete D’Angelo, Steve Baker, and Bill Stanton.”
“How many do you have on your list that you don’t know?”
“It’s hard to say. If I didn’t recognize them from day to day, I might have written them down twice or even more.”
“Your best guess.”
I picked up my phone and opened up the notepad app. I scanned my list and counted the descriptions I had entered. “About five. Maybe seven.”
Matt nodded. He glanced out the window. “It’s getting late.”
My heart fell. I was sure he’d just been humoring me and was now going to make his escape.
“I don’t think a lot of cane-users will be out walking around at this time of night. How about tomorrow we go drive around for a while and see who we can see? I’ve been around more the past few years, plus I know a lot of people from the barbershop, so I’ll probably recognize some people you don’t know.” He took a deep breath. “Sound like a plan?”
I tried to hold back my smile, but I didn’t think I did a very good job. “Sounds like a plan.”
“And what’s your plan for once we have a complete list?”
“Then I need your help to figure out who had a connection to your dad.”
Matt nodded. “You had this planned, didn’t you? From the time you brought it up, your goal was to get me to help you figure out who else might be a suspect then narrow down the list based on who had a connection to my dad.”
“Not quite,” I said coyly.
“No?” he asked, a half smile creeping across his lips.
“I wanted your help with the connection to your dad. Helping me identify additional suspects is just a bonus.” I was still trying hard not to smile too much, but Matt laughed out loud. I hadn’t heard him laugh that loud or hard since I’d been back in town.
“Oh well, as long as you were only trying to use me a little bit!”
I giggled. “I wasn’t trying to use you at all! I was trying to help you, and I just needed your help to do it!” I knew my logic wasn’t quite sound, but we were both laughing so hard, I didn’t think it mattered. It felt really good to just be happy with him.
Our laughter woke Latte. He stood and nudged my hand with his nose, then turned to stare at the door. For some reason, even though Matt was always the one to take Latte out, the dog still always came to me. It was as if he knew he was my dog, even when he had a helper in his care.
“Oh, come on, boy.” Matt stood and patted his leg for Latte to follow him.
They went outside for a few minutes.
“Is there anything you need before I leave?” Matt asked when they came back in.
“No, I think I’m good,” I replied, glancing around. My crutches were within reach, all the dishes had been put away, and there was nothing on the floor for me to trip over when I hobbled to bed. Latte and I had been sleeping in my grandparents’ old bedroom so I didn’t have to deal with the stairs.
“Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He looked kind of awkward standing in the doorway, but I wasn’t sure what to do or say to make him feel more comfortable.
I just nodded and smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He went to the door. “You’ll call if you need anything, right?”
He’d been staying at his dad’s house so that he’d be close if I needed anything during the night. I’d been wondering if he was seriously considering selling his place and moving in next door, but I hadn’t found the opportunity to ask yet, and I was a little afraid it would sound as if I was coming on to him. I liked the idea of him living so close by and didn’t want to scare him off.
“Yes, I’ll call,” I assured him.
He said good night and headed home before I headed to bed with Latte trailing behind me.
Chapter 21
MATT CAME over in the morning to make us breakfast before we headed out on our mission. I hovered on my crutches in front of the coffee machine to make cappuccinos for us. It wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t very well let Matt do it when I was the one who ran a coffee shop. Matt made us pancakes. Apparently they were one of the few things Mr. Cardosi could make
, so Matt ate them a lot growing up.
“It seems appropriate to eat them on the day we find my dad’s killer,” he declared.
“That seems optimistic.” I only had a rough list, that we both knew was incomplete, of suspects, and we still had to figure out who on that list had a strong connection to Mr. Cardosi. Plus, I’d been wrong once already, and that made me trigger shy.
“I have to be optimistic.” Matt shrugged. “I’m tired of waiting.”
I understood the feeling, even if I wasn’t as confident as he was that we would figure it out today. Even if we did, I wouldn’t get my hopes up that we were right. If we found someone, they would just be a suspect, nothing more. I wasn’t calling anyone else a murderer without some concrete proof.
After breakfast, Matt and I got in the car and drove around town. It was a beautiful day and still early, so lots of old folks were out taking their “morning constitutionals.” I added a few more names to my list based on people Matt knew that I didn’t or just didn’t recognize. It simultaneously felt as if we were inching closer to finding the killer and moving further away. I knew that each name I added to the list might be the killer’s, but also that if it wasn’t, I was just making it harder to actually identify him. Still, I added them and tried to keep my spirits up.
As usual, a group of men was playing chess in the park. Matt and I recognized several of the men, but a few were unfamiliar, and two of them had canes. I considered chess players to be strong potential targets as I could easily have walked past them that day in the park without noticing if one of them was watching me. Playing chess with the men seemed like a good way to get information about the ones we didn’t recognize without seeming strangely curious.
Matt parked out on the street and helped me climb out. Moving was getting easier as I got used to balancing my weight on only one leg, but I still got wobbly easily. He let Latte out of the backseat, because of course we’d brought him with us, and we headed over to the chess tables. Matt and I played each other the first game. He was terrible, and I made sure everyone knew.
“You’re hopeless, Matt!” I said loudly. I heard a few of the men chuckle, and I looked around at them. “Do any of you want to play me? I can’t handle winning that easily again!”
One able-bodied man stood. “I’ll play you.” He made his way to my table.
I didn’t recognize him, but I figured it might still be a chance to learn some names. Matt walked over to the man’s former partner, who I noticed with glee had a cane propped against his chair.
“Mind if I join you?” Matt asked the man.
“Not if you’re as bad as she says.” The man laughed.
Matt and I played a few games, moving to different partners each time. We easily got the names of all of the men with canes. Around lunch, we decided to head out to get something to eat. We went to Sandy’s Seafood Shack again, because the lobster rolls were calling my name and they had a nice covered porch we could eat on with Latte.
“Do you want to keep driving around?” Matt asked as we ate.
“Maybe just a little, but I feel like we’ve found pretty much everyone we’re going to find, you know? At this point, we’ve identified everyone who’s out and about, so unless the Tripper is in hiding somewhere, we should have already gotten him.”
“I need to go by the barbershop to pick up the mail. I was thinking I’d get as many of my dad’s papers as I can, and we can start going through them. He kept track of all of his customers, so maybe we can find something there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied.
We finished our delicious, buttery lobster and got back in the car. At the barbershop, I waited outside while Matt went in to get the papers. Getting in and out was too hard for me to bother with when Matt would only take a few minutes to get everything he needed. He came back with more than I was expecting—a big box full of stuff. He put it in the trunk and got back in the car.
“Did you take every piece of paper in the store?” I asked.
“No, just what was on my dad’s desk.”
“All that was on his desk?”
“It was pretty covered.”’
We set up shop with the papers at my kitchen table. It gave us plenty of space, and I could prop my leg up on one of the unused chairs. We started by sorting through the paperwork, arranging it all into piles based on category—ledgers, records, mail, things that should really have been thrown away a long time ago—then went through each pile, highlighting our Cane Walkers’ names as we found them. It was a tedious process, and I didn’t feel like we were actually making much progress. Almost every Cane Walker had gotten his hair cut at the barbershop, so it seemed like Mr. Cardosi had some level of connection to all of them.
Matt made us spaghetti Bolognese for dinner. He moved most of the papers off the table so that we had room to eat and didn’t have to worry about splashing sauce on anything. We were both getting discouraged that we hadn’t yet found a smoking gun, or empty cyanide caplet as the case may be, but neither of us wanted to admit it. I especially felt that Matt would be disappointed if we didn’t at least find a new lead.
Matt cleared the table and washed the dishes as I continued through the paperwork.
“You know, I think my dad kept some of his records at the house,” he said when he was done putting the dishes away. “Do you care if I run over there and see what I can find?”
“No, no, go. We should look at every available shred of evidence.” I was glad he’d thought of more papers. We were getting toward the end of what we had, and I was a little anxious.
Matt brought my phone over to me in case I needed to call him. He let Latte out real quick, then he headed over to his dad’s house. I kept flipping through papers. The mail pile was the only one I could reach, and it was phenomenally boring and useless. It seemed as if Mr. Cardosi had never thrown away a single credit card application or advertisement for business cards. Still, I had to look through everything. The one thing I needed might very well be hidden among all the junk mail.
My phone’s text message alert sounded. It was from Matt.
Ran into Paul Hamilton. Started talking about Dad. Said they used to have coffee together, so I invited him in for a cup. Will be back in 30 minutes or so.
Paul Hamilton, the one who Karl worked for at the electronics shop, wasn’t the most pleasant person, so I wouldn’t complain about Matt not inviting him back to my house instead.
I continued flipping through the mail, finally landing on a section that seemed to be personal correspondence. I wasn’t expecting to find anything useful, but it had to be more interesting than the junk I’d been looking at. It was mostly letters from Mr. Cardosi’s old military buddies and a few letters from family back in Italy. I skimmed each one then set it aside in a separate pile. They seemed like mementos that Matt might want.
I picked up one that looked as if it had been scribbled more quickly than the others. The writing was large and messy and missing the customary “Dear Gino” at the top. The contents were different too. No reminiscences of youthful exploits or updates on shared acquaintances. No, this one was angry. Aggressive.
Stay out of it, Cardosi! My finances are none of your business!
Directly beneath it was a response Mr. Cardosi had apparently written but never sent.
Paul, It is my business when you’re using my name as part of your scheme. I’m not letting this go.
I looked at the paper, trying to figure out what it meant. Both notes seemed angry, but I wasn’t sure if they were evidence. I flipped through the rest of the pile quickly to see if there were any more notes like them. There was nothing. I crossed my arms and stared at the kitchen wall. When I glanced back at the papers on the table, my eyes fell directly on Mr. Cardosi’s note, and the very first word he had written. Paul.
Paul Hamilton walked with a cane. He said he used to have coffee with Mr. Cardosi. He was having coffee with Matt now. The cyanide that had killed Mr. Cardosi had been in a cup of c
offee.
My blood ran cold. I grabbed my phone and dialed Matt. There was no answer. I had to get over there now. My crutches were across the room. I struggled up from my seat and hopped over to my crutches. I shoved them under my arms. Just before I started hobbling out of the house, I had the clarity of thought to put in a call to the police. I didn’t know what I was walking into and didn’t want to be trapped with a murderer with no help on the way. I dialed 9-1-1, pressed the phone between my ear and my shoulder, then started limping across the room. Walking on crutches was hard enough, but doing it while keeping my ear glued to my shoulder was next to impossible. I was inching my way down the front walk when the dispatcher answered.
“I need help. I need police now,” I said into the phone.
“What address?” she asked.
I spouted off Mr. Cardosi’s address, listened for her confirmation that she had heard it, then I let the phone drop to the ground. I could move faster without it. The distance from my house to Mr. Cardosi’s seemed exponentially longer than it ever had. When I was a kid, I could run from door to door in less than thirty seconds. This would take me several minutes, minutes I didn’t know that I had.
Latte seemed to know something was going on. He ran back and forth beside me, barking loudly the way he had the day I’d found him. When I turned onto Mr. Cardosi’s walk, he went ballistic, running up to the door and punctuating his barking with long, loud howls. It was as if he knew the man who had tripped me was inside.
When I was just over an arm’s length from the door, I lunged for it, turning the doorknob and pushing it open. Latte rushed past me and into the kitchen. I lost my balance and fell facefirst into the foyer.
“Matty, don’t drink that!” I screamed.
I heard nothing from the kitchen. I was too late. I crawled, dragging myself into the house with just my arms.
