by Sandra Balzo
'Ichiro hit his head as he fell into the water?'
'Can't tell you what I don't know,' Chuck snapped. 'Katou's in autopsy. I'll send you a full report with photos, OK?'
Ouch.
Chuck drew in a deep breath. 'Sorry, Lise. I don't mean to take this out on you. I was with Bobby when this last call came in and... . well, you know how this town is. Everybody's got an opinion about how I should do my job.'
AnnaLise didn't want to get in the middle of a disagreement between her two friends, who just happened to be the town mayor and police chief of same.
She took advantage of an audible groan from Hart, who was jostled while being loaded into the ambulance, to ask, 'So what do you think? Hunting accident?'
'Ordinarily, more like "poaching" accident.' Chuck shook his head. 'Yahoos can't wait a couple of days for a legal season to start.'
'Lucky for Dickens. If that was an arrow rather than a bullet, it could have been worse.'
'"Dickens"? Since when are you and the great benefactor so friendly?'
Come to think of it, AnnaLise couldn't remember anyone referring to the man as 'Dickens'. It was usually Hart. Or Mr. Hart. Or occasionally, 'that pervert'.
'I'm practicing,' AnnaLise said. 'Dickens hired me to write his memoirs and I wanted to set the ground rules right away. I'm his collaborator, not his subordinate.'
'Write his memoirs? You really want to spend that kind of time with that kind of lech?'
Oh, yeah. and 'lech'.
'Hart... Dickens has been keeping journals for years.' She hooked a thumb toward the overloaded Mitsubishi. 'I'm taking them with me.'
'All the way back to Wisconsin?' He walked around the car. 'You're going to bottom out.'
'The car rides low-slung naturally, but you're right. Maybe I should ship the boxes back. And charge Dickens.' She was only half-kidding.
Chuck raised his hand in a stop sign while he conferred with one of his officers holding a plastic evidence bag.
When the woman had left, he said, 'While you're going through all those papers, keep an eye out for someone who might have wanted to kill him.'
'Meaning you don't buy this as even a poaching accident?'
He pointed to the closing rear doors of the ambulance. 'The man's wearing a blazered shirt—'
'Vermilion,' AnnaLise interjected. 'Kenneth Cole makes one, but this...'
Chuck looked skyward.
'What?' AnnaLise protested. 'It's still deep red, just with an orangish―'
'Lise?' Chuck interrupted. 'I know I'm gay, but please don't talk to me about this crap. It freaks me out.'
'Oh,' she said, sheepishly. 'Sorry. Go ahead.'
'Thank you. I was saying that with Hart wearing a blaze-vermilion shirt, he's not likely to have been mistaken for a deer, even with the tan pants.' A warning look toward AnnaLise. 'Besides, that officer I just talked with found a shell casing at the edge of the woods. Which tells me somebody was laying in wait.'
'Lying in wait,' AnnaLise corrected reflexively.
Chuck gave her the look she deserved.
'Sorry.' Now beyond sheepish. 'But are you serious? Someone actually aimed for Hart?'
'Dickens.' His turn to correct her. 'And, yes. Or the shooter isn't worth a damn and aimed for you and got Hart instead. Either way — ' he leaned over and kissed her on the top of the head — 'I have work to do.'
'Chuck?' AnnaLise called as he walked away.
Over his shoulder he replied, 'Yes?'
'You're not serious, are you? I mean, you don't honestly think someone meant to shoot me.'
'Of course not. I was just...' Then he stopped and turned back around. 'Why? Is there a reason you think it's possible?'
'Me? Don't be silly.' When Chuck hesitated she waved him on. 'Go. Solve crime. Fight evil.'
Chuck grinned and continued walking while AnnaLise moved to her car. There was no one who wanted to hurt her... at least so far as she knew. Nothing she'd written could possibly have offended someone here. All her bylines were in a Wisconsin newspaper. Sutherton, no matter how broadened its horizons, was unlikely to carry a publication so far removed from High Country.
AnnaLise looked at the cluster of uniforms examining the ground at the edge of the woods.
Nah, no one would want to hurt her.
Right?
Pulling past her mother's parked car, AnnaLise stopped her own loaded-down Mitsubishi nose-on-sidewalk in front of the old garage on Second Street that the Griggs shared with an even-older neighbor, Mrs. Peebly.
Daisy had left her cream-colored Chrysler on the street, so AnnaLise could take the garage. Given Hart's 'load', it worked out perfectly. AnnaLise wouldn't have to empty out her Mitsubishi only to have to repack when she left Tuesday morning for the long drive back.
Slipping the gear shift into park, AnnaLise climbed out and went to lift the closer of the two heavy, traditional wooden garage doors. There was no electric-opener on either, despite AnnaLise's repeated suggestions that both Daisy and Mrs. Peebly would benefit.
'You know there's no electricity in that old hulk, AnnaLise,' Daisy would say.
'Whatcha going to do? Run an extension cord?' From Mrs. Peebly.
Cue raucous laughter. Times two.
While it was true that adding electrical service to the free-standing garage wouldn't be cheap, not only would an automatic opener be a real convenience, but an overhead light was nearly a necessity. The dome-shaped, battery-operated closet light Daisy had found in a dollar store was hung on a nail between the doors and, despite its advertised promise to 'push-on/push-off', the thing was perpetually dead as... well, a doornail.
Thankfully, as AnnaLise steadied the door at its apex, the late-day light was still slanting in the single window of the cinder block rear wall. Through it, AnnaLise could see the patch of lawn where she had played as a child and over which Daisy still hung laundry to dry. The pale pink and blue flowered sheets billowing on the clothesline were the ones from her old room.
Smiling at the prospect of sleeping on fresh, air-dried linen tonight, AnnaLise turned and nearly collided with a shrunken woman of about ninety leaning on a walker.
'Mrs. Peebly, I'm so sorry,' AnnaLise said, her hands coming up to keep the aluminum-framed walker vertical.
'Don't you worry, AnnaLise,' their neighbor said, bouncing the contraption up and down a couple of times, 'this thing ain't going nowhere.'
Nor was Mrs. Peebly, at least anytime soon, if free will had anything to do with it. Larry Peebly had wanted his elderly mother to move in with him for years, but the old woman's eyes still burned with intelligence and, so long as her body held up, she had voiced every intention of staying in her own home.
The walker, though, was a new, and somewhat worrying, sign. And it tickled something at the back of AnnaLise's mind.
She hugged Mrs. Peebly, careful not to crush fragile bones. 'I'm so glad to see you. You're well, I hope?'
Again, the older woman picked up the walker and for a moment AnnaLise thought she was going to press it overhead like a barbell, tennis-ball-covered aluminum feet pointing skyward.
'Aside from this thing, I'm doing just fine, thank you very much.'
'You don't seem to be having balance problems,' AnnaLise said, smiling.
'I'm not. Doc said this is 'pro-phy-lac-tic.'' She intoned the syllables like they amounted to a dirty word.
'He probably means it in the sense of preventative,'' AnnaLise said. 'Not, umm...'
'Hell, I know she don't mean it's a rubber,' Mrs. Peebly said, emphasis on the gender of the physician involved. 'You kids think you're the only ones who keep up?'
Properly chastised at her presumptive use of the male pronoun, AnnaLise opened her mouth to answer the rest of the indictment, but Mrs. Peebly was on a roll. 'And every last one of you ought to be grateful we didn't have all the contraceptive paraphernalia that's out there nowadays. Otherwise, half your generation wouldn't even be here.'
Bested again, AnnaLise held up h
er hands in surrender. 'Then count me grateful. But back to you — you're all right? You didn't fall or anything?'
'Not yet, knock on aluminum.' Mrs. Peebly was leaning down, one hand on the walker, the other reaching for the door handle of her garage door, a twin to the one AnnaLise had just raised.
'Stop!'
Startled, Mrs. Peebly looked up, back still bent and now twisted at the waist like the center strip of a pretzel.
'Sorry,' AnnaLise said. 'I meant, let me get that for you.'
The moment she had the door high enough for Mrs. Peebly to fit under, the woman pushed a button on her key fob and crab-walked to a black Cadillac that answered 'tweet-tweet'.
Another brain tickle.
'You lock your car when it's inside the garage?' Typical some places, but rare to unheard-of in Sutherton, at least from AnnaLise's experience.
'You sound like your mother. "You're too trusting, Daisy", I say to her. "You ain't lived near as long as I have. Nor seen what I seen."'
'Daisy doesn't listen?'
''Course not.' Mrs. Peebly tried the passenger door and, when it didn't open, pushed on her key fob again. 'Though we wouldn't have to lock our cars, if these old garage doors still locked. They need fixing.'
AnnaLise saw her wedge. 'They need replacing. New doors and electronic openers.'
'Waste of money,' Mrs. Peebly said. 'But I have to admit I'm getting mighty tired of ruining my umbrellas.' She gestured toward the wall next to the door.
'Umbrellas?' Sure enough, AnnaLise saw a green and white golf umbrella resting there on a mangled metal tip. 'What happened to it?'
'Got bent, that's what. You think it's easy getting it through that track nice and snug?'
AnnaLise looked at the vertical track assembly and then the door itself, overhead.
'Ohh, I see,' she said as light — though dim and battery-operated — finally dawned. 'The metal bar that slid through the track to secure the door is missing, so you're replacing it with... an umbrella?'
'I am, and Daisy would be wise to do likewise. I even offered to buy her the equipment. But your mother, if you don't mind me saying, is obstinate as a mule. During the day, I don't even bother locking up no more. What good does it do, if her side is wide open?'
A point, but: 'If you both... lock them from the inside, how do either of you get out?'
'I'm not too proud to admit — ' Mrs. Peebly deposited the walker on the seat — 'that question did arise.'
She slammed the door closed and turned. 'Now do you plan on moving that noisy foreign car of yours anytime soon? I need to buy my groceries and you're encroaching on my garage apron.'
Torn between saying, 'Yes, ma'am' and offering to shop for her elderly neighbor, AnnaLise chose the answer that wouldn't get her run over or hit with an idle umbrella. 'Yes, ma'am.'
She pulled her car into the right side of the garage while Mrs. Peebly backed out the left. Leaving the Mitsubishi, she signaled the elderly woman that she'd close both garage doors.
'I'm not making any promises about "locking" them, though,' she said under her breath.
Ignoring the umbrella, AnnaLise crossed to the other side of her neighbor's door, where a frayed rope hung. The ropes, one attached to each door, allowed Mrs. Peebly and Daisy — and AnnaLise, for that matter — to get the door started on its downward journey without having to stand on their tippy-toes.
Though 'tippy-toe' might not be beyond Mrs. Peebly's abilities, even now.
AnnaLise lowered the one door and was about to do the same with Daisy's, when the brain tickle finally scratched itself. The result was two promises that AnnaLise intended to keep before she returned to Wisconsin. One: arrange for the garage to be wired for electricity, with automatic openers installed. Two: ask Chief Chuck Greystone if Ichiro Katou's cane had been found.
Chapter Twelve
'I completely forgot about the cane,' Bobby Bradenham said.
'I did, too,' AnnaLise said. 'It was only when I saw Mrs. Peebly's walker that it occurred to me.'
The two friends were sitting at Daisy's kitchen table just as they had throughout their school days. The only difference was that margaritas had replaced Cokes and they weren't even pretending to do homework.
AnnaLise gestured toward a blank white wall. 'Weird not having a door there, isn't it?'
Prior to Daisy's retirement, a connection between the kitchen and the then-grocery made it easy for AnnaLise's mother to move from apartment to cash register whenever the cowbell on the outer door signaled a market customer. Many a meal was interrupted in the Griggs household because someone else needed a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk to take home to theirs.
While convenient, it did make for an unconventional living space. The Second Street apartment entrance opened directly into the eat-in kitchen where AnnaLise and Bobby sat. A tiny parlor completed the Griggs' portion at street-level, a staircase leading to the second floor's two bedrooms and one bath.
'Don't tell me,' Bobby said. 'You miss the market? You hated having to jump up every five minutes to wait on someone when your mom wasn't around.'
'It was a good way of life,' AnnaLise said nostalgically.
'Are you kidding?' Bobby exclaimed. 'Not only did you complain, but you told people you lived in the back room of a store.'
'I did,' AnnaLise protested. 'Only now, it's the back room of a nightclub.'
'But,' Bobby said, looking a little sad, 'AnnaLise doesn't live here anymore.'
'I know.' She stared at Bobby for a moment, before mentally shaking herself. 'Sorry. What were we talking about?'
'You asked Chuck whether Ichiro's cane had been found. What did he say?'
'He thanked me and hung up.' AnnaLise rose to replenish their drinks from the blender on the counter.
Standing, she saw James Duende's tousled dark hair pass by the window, the rest of him hidden by the shutters Daisy'd installed to provide privacy against Second Street's sidewalk. AnnaLise hadn't had a chance to speak with Sheree's boarder at Sal's, so she hoped he'd be at tomorrow's parade. Sutherton could use all the good-looking men it could get. Dickens Hart was old, Chuck was gay, and Bobby was... well, his mother's son.
'Interesting,' Bobby said.
'What?'
'Chuck just "thanking" you.'
For some reason, his tone made AnnaLise a little uncomfortable. And defensive of Chuck, who shouldn't need her defending. 'I had the impression he was busy, probably with the shooting at Dickens Hart's place.'
'Or, Chuck's embarrassed he hadn't thought about the cane himself.' Again, the mildly critical tone, but seemingly no real concern from the mayor over the shooting of, arguably, his town's leading citizen. At least in that one citizen's mind.
Whose future was now tied to her own. 'Have you heard any updates on Hart's condition?'
'Bullet in the fatty part of the arm,' Bobby said distractedly. 'He'll be fine, but he's kicking up a huge fuss. Demanding an investigation, like he's the only one who's ever been shot around here.'
Silly man. This was, after all, Sutherton.
'However, look here,' Bobby continued. 'You're absolutely right. If Ichiro was unsteady because of his leg and toppled into the water, where's the cane?'
'Presumably somewhere in the lake or, alternatively, on the bank where he fell in,' AnnaLise said. 'You told me at your... at Bradenham that you didn't know what was wrong with his leg. His left one, correct?'
'Right.'
AnnaLise looked at him.
'Correct,' Bobby amended. 'And the short answer is, I still don't know. Ichiro never made a big deal about the gimp, himself, so I didn't want to, either. After a while I didn't even notice the cane. It was just... I don't know, part of him?'
'But since I'd just met Ichiro, I hadn't known him long enough to see past it like you, or maybe even Chuck, could have.'
Bobby said, 'Did he tell you that apparently I was the last one to see Ichiro alive?'
'No, he didn't. When was that?'
'You were
there,' Bobby said. 'You and your mother. At Hart's Landing, remember?'
'Oh, of course.' AnnaLise was remembering Katou at his window, holding the giant cotton swab and laughing down at them. Daisy and she departed then, but Bobby had stayed on. 'So how did you leave it with him?'
'Ichiro?' Bobby gave her a strange look. 'Like I told you, we made plans to meet at Sal's.'
'After he did... something.'
'Correct.'
'But we don't know what.' AnnaLise said it almost to herself.
'We may never know.' Bobby looked at the wall clock over the sink. It was in the shape of an apple. 'I'd better go or I'll be late for dinner.'
'If I had a dime for every time you said that,' AnnaLise said, getting up to follow him to the door.
'The more things change, the more they stay the same,' Bobby said.
A cliché, but AnnaLise knew that very little had changed for Bobby. Still living in his mother's house at what, the age of 29?
Bobby continued, 'Ma will kill me, if dinner—'
'Gets cold,' AnnaLise finished, stepping out onto the sidewalk after him. 'But I think you're probably safe this time. Look.' She pointed to the Mercedes parked at the corner. 'Isn't that your mother's car?'
'It... is. Now where in the world would she be?' Bobby seemed nonplussed that Mrs. B wasn't home making their dinner.
'Maybe she decided to eat out,' AnnaLise said mildly.
'But what about...' Seeing the grin on his friend's face, he stopped. 'OK, you're right. I'm still a mama's boy.'
'And spoiled rotten. C'mon, let's go see if "Ma" is at Mama's.'
A closed sign hung crookedly on one of the doors of Torch. 'Not open on Sunday, I see. I'm surprised Tucker didn't want to take advantage of the holiday weekend.'
'He was serving this morning,' Bobby said, 'for the after-church coffee crowd, but I think he realized soon after his Grand Opening that people don't go out on Sunday night in Sutherton.'
'Tell Mama that.' AnnaLise pointed to the cars filling nearly every space in front of her place. Visible through the big window was a line at the cash register waiting to pay Mama, and another, for Daisy to seat them.
