So Rudy did know about the Koenigs. “What about him?”
“Him?” Rudy’s expression darkened. “You have a him? I have a her.” Rudy grabbed Shoe’s arm and stopped him. “I’m the one keeping the secrets? Who’s the him?”
Shoe shook him loose. “For the last time, tell me where Mena was and I’ll tell you about the other witness.”
“Very well, but this won’t work unless—”
“Preaching to the choir, Rudy. Tempus—”
“Muriel Fitzhugh. She operates the Sunrise Pelican, and I dug up all the skinny yesterday. And you’re right. We don’t have time to argue. Hold the rest of the information until we check her out. Then, tit for tat.”
“Deal. This a brothel?”
“Boat. Husband died recently and she’s having a hard time making ends meet. We’re paying her a visit before she sells out and moves on. There ahead,” he said, pointing, “the deadrise with the green-and-yellow flag. Come on. I’m afraid she’ll take the boat out and it’ll be one more delay.”
Shoe saw the pennant but no woman he would consider a sailor. He checked farther down the boardwalk. They were uncomfortably close to Mackall’s dock. Even though his boat was out, hanging around to stake out Fitzhugh’s return didn’t seem like a good idea. “It’s getting too cold to fish. Maybe she’s done for the season.”
“She’s still in operation, at least for a while. Look at the boat. She hasn’t weatherized. Probably wants to unload it before going through all that bother.”
Shoe had no idea what he was supposed to see, and he doubted Rudy did either. “Are you sure she’ll show?”
“No, but where else would she be? “Look!” Rudy said, landing an elbow. “In the yellow slicker and hat. Gotta be her. How many women sailors could there possibly be?”
Shoe would have sworn she was a he. As they drew closer, he decided gender might be immaterial, though. If God had decided to create the perfect sailor, the prototype might very well have been Muriel Fitzhugh: low-built for sure footing in rough waters, intense gaze that didn’t seem to miss anything and probably questioned much, and rather largish hands that could successfully tie off a knot, haul a net, or deftly handle a fishing knife. She was almost as intimidating as Hanner Mackall.
When Rudy told her they wanted a word, she looked them over a moment and then motioned to follow her off the pier and up to the overhang of warehouse 19. “If you don’t need a boat, I don’t have time.” The whole time they talked, she played with a length of rope and her eyes never stopped roving.
“For your trouble,” Rudy said, offering her a double sawbuck.
“If it’s trouble, you can keep it,” she said, refusing to take it. “What do you want?”
“We’re not police, but we’re investigating the—”
Shoe saw her eyes dart toward Mackall’s boat.
“Not interested,” she said, and began to walk away.
He pulled out a C note. “More interesting?”
She put it in her pocket. “Didn’t see anything.” She gave him a defiant look.
“I was going to marry her,” Rudy said. “Losing someone you love . . . it’s unbearable.”
Her hands stopped and for a split second her look softened. “‘And no other thought than to love and be loved by’—” The sound of a revving boat engine cut her off. “It’s done. Move on.” She turned her back on them and headed back toward the Sunrise Pelican.
“Well, we tried,” Rudy said, watching her go. “Tough nuts down here. Think she knows?”
Shoe was too busying watching the next pier to comment. Mackall’s boat, the Sea Kingdom, was back, bumping its way along the dock as it eased it into its slip. “Oh, she knows. But we’re not going to get anything from her or anybody else. Nobody’s going to rat out a neighbor without expecting a knife in the belly or the back.”
Curiously, the pilot wasn’t Mackall. Shoe watched as the stranger threw a bull rope around a mooring, tied it off, and hurried down to the end of the pier. He entered warehouse 20, but he wasn’t there long. Moments later, Shoe felt a rush of adrenalin as he emerged, accompanied by Hanner Mackall. There was an ongoing conversation between the two, but other than a string of profanity, Shoe couldn’t catch it. Mackall locked the warehouse’s double doors and they both returned to his boat and pushed off immediately. “Where’s the fire?” Shoe mumbled.
Rudy shifted his gaze. “Don’t like him either. Let’s go.”
They fell in with stevedores rolling enormous barrels towards the steamboat landing. Neither spoke—Shoe still worrying about Mackall’s fire and Rudy looking as if he were drowning in runaway emotions. Sooner or later, the dam was going to burst on those feelings. Although there would be no right time, Shoe just hoped the timing would not be so inopportune as to wash them both away.
He hated to admit Rudy was ever right, but his assessment of Hanner Mackall was a bullseye. There was an undeniable malevolence about the man. What was he so heated about and what was in his warehouse?
Chapter Twenty-Five
T. Winks and Dead Marty’s
Rattled and defeated, Shoe and Rudy found themselves once more at the town clock. It was as if they were circling on a carousel without gold rings or prizes. “Well, that went well. Any ideas, Rudy?”
“Not a one,” Rudy said. He let out a burdened sigh. “Maybe we’re in the wrong job, Shoe, because I’m coming up zeros. The murderer is right here in front of us somewhere and we can’t identify him. I can almost hear the taunting laughter.” He pointed at a hook and bait shop with fishing creels in the front window. “Is he there? Or there?” he said, gesturing toward the shop next door. “Or maybe it’s this one.” He pointed to Ripley’s Hock Shop, right behind them. “Go—what?” He emitted a sound somewhere between a hiss and a whistle.
Three strides had Rudy at Ripley’s door. He yanked it open with enough force to bounce it off the front of the building, went straight to the window, and pulled something from the display. “Where did you get this?” he asked, wheeling around on the proprietor cowering at the register. He put a delicate emerald necklace with an intricate cross pendant down on the counter.
A look of fear swept across Mr. Ripley’s face. He looked from the jewelry to Rudy and shrugged with false bravado. “Same way I get everything else in here. Fair trade. Money for precious family items.” He picked it up. “Gave a good price for it too. Interested? I can contact you if they don’t come back for it.”
Rudy pulled it out of his hand. “They who?” He said over his shoulder to Shoe, “This is Mena’s.”
Ripley peered around Rudy to look at Shoe. “Don’t know, sir. It came in a day I wasn’t here. Mr. Marty dealt with the other party.”
“Let me talk to Marty.”
“Can’t. He died yesterday.”
“Yesterday,” Rudy repeated, giving Shoe the side-eye. “Rather convenient, wasn’t it?”
“Fell off the pier and drowned. Terrible thing,” Ripley said, shaking his head.
Rudy’s face colored a deep red and his fists clenched. Shoe latched onto his arm, which was quivering with anger that had only one other place to go. “A word outside, Rudy.” Rudy remained rooted in a staring contest with the proprietor. Shoe leaned over and whispered, “A stretch in the can will solve nothing.”
Rudy emitted a low growl. “Let’s go,” he said, shaking free, and he took off.
Ripley tore around the counter after him. “Hey, you can’t leave with my stuff. I’m calling the cops.”
Rudy turned around and seem to grow three inches taller. Shoe had never seen anything like that from a Shoemaker. Rudy’s chutzpah had to come from his mother’s side.
“Listen, pal,” Rudy said, holding the jewelry up just out of Ripley’s reach. “You’ve been had. This merchandise is hot. Evidence in a murder case. Someone will be by later to take a statement from you. Or, if that doesn’t suit you, we can take you down to the clubhouse and address things now.”
All defiance drained
from Ripley’s face. He nodded meekly.
“Make a note in your books, and reference,” Rudy said. “T. Winks. Got it?”
Ripley had a beanpole build and wiry little hands. He got it, but as he returned behind the counter, he mumbled a few expletives and said, “I’m making a note in my book. This T. Winks better cough up some reparation. I don’t run no charity kitchen.”
“Excellent.” Rudy slid Mena’s jewelry into a pocket and returned to the counter. “While you’re in there, tell me who Marty listed as bringing in the necklace.”
Ripley’s blank look told Shoe the proprietor wasn’t fast enough to talk his way out of the corner he’d put himself in. Hostility began rolling off him like lava running down Mt. Vesuvius. Shoe never met a store owner who didn’t pack a heater or at least stow one within easy reach of his cash register. This one was gonna blow. As Ripley’s hands disappeared beneath the counter, Shoe grabbed Rudy by the back of the jacket and yanked.
Rudy staggered backwards. Ripley backed away from the counter, both hands clutching his leather-bound ledger. Rudy delivered a well-aimed elbow to Shoe’s rib cage and he let him go.
“If you’ll please show us the ledger,” Shoe said, massaging his side, “we’ll be on our way.”
Ripley put the ledger down and with shaking hands flipped to the last page. But before he could read it, Rudy had swung the oversized notebook around and begun running a finger down the page.
Ripley, now a ghostly shade of pale, grabbed the book back and hugged it to his chest. “Sir, your behavior is completely unacceptable. Get out!” There was a warble in his voice that diluted any authority he might have commanded.
The next few events occurred so quickly that Shoe would be hard-pressed later to remember exactly what transpired. As near as he could recall, Rudy’s hands went for the book, Ripley’s dove for the cash register, and Shoe’s threw something big and heavy at Ripley’s head. The Keystone Cops couldn’t have choreographed it better.
Ripley’s first shot went wide but his aim was much improved by the second, and glass shattered behind them just as they cleared the doorway. Rudy passed him in three strides, arms and legs pumping like a well-oiled engine.
“Where?” he said as he passed Shoe.
“Left,” Shoe said, directing him between the first two buildings. Bad choice. A high wooden fence blocked their way at the end of the alley.
Rudy bent double, clutching at his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. “Now what?”
Shoe breezed past him and leaped at the fence. His foot hit somewhere in the middle, his hands grabbed the top, and he was up and over. As he landed in tall weeds on the other side, he heard his name included in several colorful pejoratives and Rudy’s oxfords scraping the boards on the other side.
Rudy hit hard and they were off again, hopping through trash and briar behind the buildings as they raced toward the main dock. Rudy continued his diatribe, but as Shoe pulled away it faded into babble.
When he reached the main thoroughfare, Shoe halted at the entrance to the alleyway and took a gander. He saw no cops barreling his way, that way, or any way. No enraged gun-wielding store clerk. No commotion at all—just a steady stream of peaceful strollers taking in the cool December air and views. He and Rudy could disappear in this and walk at a clip fast enough to get them off the wharf but not so fast as to draw unwanted attention.
“Looking good, Rudy,” he said over his shoulder. Nothing. No heavy breathing, no slapping of Rudy’s enormous feet, no shove to keep him moving along. In fact, Rudy was still halfway down the alley, a hand to the side of one of the building as he gimped along. Shoe sprinted back down the alley. He didn’t see any blood, but Rudy was limping badly. “What happened?”
“Bum knee. No more fences.” Rudy’s voice was tight as he grimaced through the pain.
Shoe put a shoulder under his arm and helped him hobble past the last of the warehouses. When they reached Main Street, they stopped for a breather—more for Shoe’s benefit than Rudy’s. Rudy was going to hurt regardless.
“T. Winks?” Shoe asked. “Did we really need another moving part in this?”
“Tiddly Winks. Great game. Ever play?”
“You moron. We’re gonna get time for impersonating the police.”
“I never said I was police. I can’t help what that palooka inferred. Half of his business is under the table. He won’t report us.” He tried to take a step and grimaced in pain, his hand shooting out to the warehouse for support. “Did you, uh, buy that on Marty?”
“Haven’t you ever been in a hock shop before? Marty is code for none of your business.”
“Birthdays and Christmases, brother. I was the red-headed stepchild, remember? Never had anything worth hocking.”
Just one more Rudy Becker story. The man was in the wrong profession, a fiction writer all the way. Ass. Their father wasn’t that kind of man. Guilt quickly tossed his annoyance aside as he recalled the look on Rudy’s face as he held the necklace. Rudy was a jerk, but he was also toting a wagonful of baggage. Half-assed, then.
“We’ve poked the underbelly, Rudy. We’ve got to go. If it gets around that we’re peepers, our lives are going to go swirling down the crapper. If Ripley has an enforcer, we can’t show our faces around here anymore. If he tells Mackall, we should hop the next freight out.”
He gazed up the avenue as it climbed away from the water on its way out of town. “Can you make it up there?” he asked. And then he said, “Sorry, Rudy, that wasn’t a good question. We’ve got nowhere else to go. We’ll stop somewhere along the trip, but we can’t stay here.” He seized on Trott’s produce stand, halfway up. “Trott’s, okay?” He started pulling Rudy forward again as pain began rippling through his shoulder under Rudy’s weight.
“Shoe, when we make it up there, we hop the next train out and sort where we are.”
Shoe liked the fact he was talking when and not if, but he wasn’t so sure about leaving town. He felt as if they were about to make a breakthrough, and he couldn’t just up and leave Fannie and Jack. They’d just have to be stealthier. “Sounds like a plan, Rudy.”
They were stopping every fifteen feet now. Rudy was sheet-white, his jaw set into a slow grind. Shoe’s shoulder was keeping rhythm like a musician’s foot. He checked behind them. There was no parting of the crowds as a posse headed after them and no sign of any coppers. If Ripley had called out the cavalry, they were heading in the opposite direction. Rudy was probably right. Ripley might be playing it close to the vest. That thought was even more frightening. The theft wouldn’t be forgotten, just dealt with in some dark alley some night.
Nobody approached them, not even to offer assistance. In fact, Shoe saw more than a couple of decent folks cross the street to avoid them. He guessed he didn’t blame them. The best way to keep out of trouble was to mind one’s own business.
Then Rudy shifted more of his weight to Shoe and that was it. They weren’t going to make the summit. To their left: Roper’s Blacksmith. To the right: Seymour Attman’s Delicatessen and Keller Brothers Cigars. With no place to sit, Shoe would have to dump Rudy onto the floor. That wouldn’t be so bad, but the odds of getting him up again were one-in-a-no–way. Shoe’s eyes darted. With adrenaline pumping thoughts of flight through his head, he couldn’t get them to stop long enough to pick a place.
Rudy sagged another few inches. “Come on, Rudy, not here on the sidewalk.” How about a wagon, too? he silently begged whoever conjured up those sorts of things.
And lo, as if someone had heard his plea, he perceived the sound of a wagon creaking up the hill behind them. As it drew abreast, he noted the empty bed. Before he could hail the driver, the wagon halted a few feet ahead of them, and the driver jumped down and took a few steps toward them. “Ride?”
“Yes, sir,” Shoe said. “Top of the hill, if you don’t mind.” He tried pulling Rudy along at a quicker pace lest the offer be rescinded once the driver had a better look at them. The attempt was futile; Rudy was s
pent.
They had to look an awful fright with beggar’s-lice and what-naught stuck to their clothes from their alley flight, but the waggoneer must have seen worse. He caught Rudy under the other arm and somehow they got him up into the wagon bed. Shoe tried to explain the knee, but apparently the driver’s good-heartedness didn’t extend to small talk and exchange of pleasantries. Other than a grunt and a groan, Rudy said nothing.
In the end, it didn’t matter. There was enough goodness afloat to get them all the way to Betty’s diner. However, when they staggered in, Fannie’s expression shot that down like a clay pigeon.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I Do and You Can’t
After the initial shock and a look of we’re going to have a serious discussion later, Fannie managed to get Rudy comfortable in a chair with a bag of ice on his leg. The knee had swelled and colored up nicely in a manly shade of angry pink. Rudy looked considerably better and the color in his face had returned. The women of Betty’s pronounced it a mild sprain and suggested he stay off it. Rudy blamed it on a trick knee and assured everyone he’d be all right shortly. He was seemed to be of the mind that he and Shoe would successfully figure things out if they stayed away from the water a while and just put their noggins together. By that logic, Shoe figured they were going to somehow strike it rich in the next twenty-four, and a smartly dressed stranger was going to deliver an elegantly wrapped box containing all the evidence they needed to find and convict Mena’s murderer. Shoe saw it as wishing in one hand and—
“Coffee?” Fannie called out, interrupting Shoe’s thoughts. She poured two without waiting for an answer.
“Giggle water?” he whispered, miming a drinker.
She nodded and added a splash of dark liquid from a bottle they kept under the counter. He took the bottle from her and added that much more again.
“Don’t see your mother. Are you here by yourself all day?” he asked.
“Yeah. I gave her a much-needed day off.”
The Dame on the Dock Page 16
