“I hope you weren’t one of the victims of those break-ins,” I said with sympathy.
“Goodness no! Rex is as good as a security system.”
Rex must have been chasing squirrels in his sleep. His back paws quivered and I swore he was grinning.
“Several of my neighbors had substantial losses,” Adele confided.
“Is that so? It’s such a relief the police caught them.”
“Did they?” She seemed honestly surprised.
“It was in the Eton”—I stopped myself—“the Creston paper today. Maybe you don’t read the paper?”
“Only the New York Times,” she said. “Where did you say you were from?”
“South Jersey. The shore area.”
“Oh, I love the Jersey Shore,” she said.
“Me too.” Fall was a perfect time at the beach—the tourists were gone, the ocean had finally warmed up, and the nights were cool. I could feel damp sand on the soles of my feet.
“More strudel?”
It would have been my third slice. I shook my head. “Thanks for the lovely afternoon.” I stood and Adele accompanied me to the door. Rex couldn’t have cared less. “Maybe you should look into a security system anyway.”
“Oh, we have one. At least we did before it broke.”
“Maybe Maria could call someone and have it repaired?”
“No need. That nice man is going to take care of it. He should be back any day now,” she said.
For some reason my little hairs were acting like Mexican jumping beans. “Nice man?”
“The one who sold security systems. He went all through the house and explained what I’d need for the windows and doors.
“But the system was never installed?”
“Oh, I expect he’ll be here in the next day or so. He was such a gentleman, so charming.” She smiled. “And so handsome.” She twittered girlishly.
“Is that right?”
“My yes. And that beret? So French, you know.”
* * *
I had a knot the size of Newark in the pit of my stomach. I knew only one person who wore a beret. And was charming. And handsome. And had Adele’s address in his cell phone. Could it be that Antonio was participating in the oldest scam in the book? Prey on lonely senior citizens, convince them to relinquish money for services that are never delivered. Was he connected to the robberies? But Adele hadn’t been one of the Creston robbery victims. I was dizzy from bouncing one theory against another and so preoccupied I found myself back in Etonville by five o’clock.
Benny was on his cell phone with his wife. “I’ll get her. I’m on my way out now.” He clicked off. “Got to get the princess. She has a cold,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
Talk about someone who needed a nap. “Go,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”
He nodded gratefully. “Thanks. I can cover for you tomorrow night if you want.”
“We’ll see.”
Carmen took over as bartender when Benny was out, and Honey picked up tables in the dining room. That meant I would also be serving. But business was not back to pre-Antonio levels, so it would be an easy night.
Honey sat at the bar, concentrating furiously on a sheet of paper. From time to time she scribbled something on a pad. She raised her head, frowning. “Oh hi, Dot.” She returned to her task.
Honey had been less snarky lately. I decided to reciprocate. “What’s that?” I asked and poured myself a seltzer.
“I’m doing my schedule of classes for next semester.”
“You’re going back to school this spring?” I hoped I didn’t sound too excited. Poor Honey. Learning the restaurant business had not been all she thought it would be.
“Of course. I mean working with Uncle Henry is, like, you know, okay, but I can’t miss the Student Packaging Jamboree.”
I coughed on a mouthful of seltzer.
“Last year I was part of the Innovation in Design and Sustainability Competition. We won second place,” she said with satisfaction. She tapped several times on her cell phone and a one-minute video appeared courtesy of YouTube. “We’re, like, receiving our award here. It was insane.”
Honey shoved her phone up close to my face. “Wow. Impressive.” I started to fold napkins.
Honey took a cue from me and set tables. “If it hadn’t been for my Tamper Evidence and Legibility class . . .”
“Rough one, huh?” I asked.
“Dot, you have no idea.” Then she beamed. “But I killed Shelf Life.”
18
I had to work hard to keep my mind on customers. What was I to do with the information I had gathered this afternoon? Henry’s mac-and-cheese was a particular favorite tonight, even though the Windjammer was only a quarter full. Mildred, from the library, came in with her nephew Zach, the Etonville quarterback, and Abby stopped in with her boyfriend Jim before rehearsal.
“Getting close to opening, Abby,” I said, just to make small talk.
“Huh.” She scowled. “This show has been one calamity after another.”
Jim scooped up a last forkful of shepherd’s pie. “I told her bad rehearsals mean a good production.”
“Jim, that only refers to a dress rehearsal and an opening. Not weeks of disasters.”
“Uh-huh. Well, good luck tonight.” I cleared Abby’s plate and left the check.
I fervently hoped the ELT could withstand Arsenic and Old Lace. It was supposed to be a fun evening of theater, not a misfortune plagued by the death of the director, infighting among actors and staff, and costume issues—
“Just give me one of everything on the menu,” Lola said and slid onto a stool at the bar.
“Whoa. How about a drink to fortify yourself for the evening?” I said.
“I’m on the wagon tonight. I need to stay sober for this costume parade. Carlyle and Walter have been squaring off all day. And Chrystal is ready to turn her hot glue gun on both of them.”
Chrystal’s favorite method of hemming costumes in a hurry: hot glue.
I lowered my voice. “I need to tell you something. Let’s go.”
Carmen delivered Lola’s shrimp salad and coffee to my back booth. “Remember when we found those addresses on Antonio’s cell phone? One was in Creston. I went there this afternoon.”
Her eyes widened. “You did? Dodie, you are some investigator. What did you find?”
I told Lola about Adele and the house and Rex. Then I finished with the charming man who wore a beret and sold her a security system.
“Oh no! You think Antonio was scamming old ladies?”
“I’m not sure how all of this fits together, but what if he was involved in the Creston burglaries?”
Lola held her head in her hands. “I can’t believe this. It’s just a nightmare that gets worse and worse. If I had suspected any of this about Antonio, I never would have brought him in to direct.”
“This might explain his bizarre behavior. And also his friend who came to the theater. Did you tell Suki about Antonio’s friend being one of the thieves?”
“She wasn’t available. I left a message.”
“I have the feeling that Antonio was deep into something illegal, even if it wasn’t the Creston break-ins. And it might have gotten him killed.”
Lola checked her watch.
“Just wondering . . . did you contact Antonio about directing at the ELT?” I asked.
Lola thought. “No, he emailed me first. Is that important?”
“Not sure. Go to rehearsal. I’ll talk with you later.”
“I’m fed up with the show. I don’t care if the whole set falls in and every actor’s naked.” She groaned. “That can’t happen, can it?”
* * *
Physical labor had a tendency to help me think. I sent Henry, Honey, and the rest of the staff home. Then I went to work mopping the dining room floor, wiping down the tables for the second time, and scrubbing the bar. Finding out what had made Antonio’s heart stop might unmask a killer and, hopefully, a motivati
on. I wondered if the arrest and interrogation of Antonio’s friend had revealed anything about Antonio. It was difficult to tell what Bill knew. He’d been pretty tight-lipped about the Creston case, skeptical about my questions on Antonio’s death, and generally unavailable to really hear what I had to say. I wrung out a cloth. It was exasperating.
My cell rang. Lola probably had had a horrendous night. “Hi. How did it—?”
“Dodie O’Dell?”
It was a female voice that I didn’t recognize immediately. The caller ID was no help: Private. “Yes?”
“This is Brianna Kincaid. I’m sorry to be calling this late.” She paused.
My mind shifted gears and I replaced images of ELT turmoil with one of Antonio’s classy first wife. “No problem. I’m just closing the Windjammer. What can I do for you?”
Brianna took a breath, her voice wavering. “I’d like to speak with you. Can we meet?”
“Sure.”
“I have to be in New York tomorrow morning for a meeting and I pass Etonville on my way home. Would lunch be convenient? We could meet at the Windjammer,” she said.
So she wasn’t afraid of the food here either!
“That’s fine. I might have to keep one eye on the dining room,” I said.
Her laugh was soft and heartfelt. “I understand. I manage a business and often find myself multitasking. I’ll be there around one.”
She clicked off. I caught a glimpse of the wall clock. It was almost midnight. I locked up, checked out Main Street for errant night wanderers, and hopped into my Metro.
* * *
I ransacked the laundry basket I’d left in the living room and changed into flannel pajamas and my terry cloth robe. I brewed a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table with my laptop to continue hunting for a Tony Dickson who would turn out to be Antonio Digenza. I picked up where I’d left off earlier in the day and returned to the third page of links and began scrolling.
For another forty-five minutes I read about Tony Dicksons: a software executive in Seattle, a real estate agent in Texas, a retired naval officer in San Diego, and a dentist in Kentucky. I stretched and yawned. What would Antonio, or Tony, gain by adopting another name? Using a pseudonym was not a crime, lots of artists did it. Of course, they were not all hiding questionable pasts.
I debated whether to continue my digging on the Internet or give up and sleep, to search another day. I was exhausted but due to the caffeine still bug-eyed. I decided I could survive another half hour. I skimmed the links on page ten, bypassing an article on a Tony Dickson who was a building contractor in Queensland, Australia, and marveling at the breadth of the online world, when I saw it: a story on the frequency of senior-citizen cons. It linked to a brief mention of the 2004 Las Vegas arrest of Tony Dickson and K. T. Amberlin for a telemarketing scam that sold bogus health-care products to the elderly. They were sentenced to three-to-five years each. The last line of the article added that Dickson had previously been convicted of misdemeanor check fraud and given probation.
I collapsed against the kitchen chair, my brain whirling. Despite the warmth of my flannel pajamas and robe, I felt a chill in the room and shivered involuntarily. Antonio had a criminal record as Tony Dickson, and had experience scamming senior citizens. Selling phony security systems to wealthy, lonely folks like Adele would have come easy; his looks and acting skills would have been a bonus. Antonio had evolved from theater artist to con artist. Suddenly my eyelids felt like bricks. I shut down my laptop and tucked myself into bed. As I dozed off, I felt a tickle at the back of my brain. Something that I had read...
19
K. T. Amberlin! I bolted upright in bed. My alarm clock said seven, which meant that I’d been asleep for less than five hours. Never mind. I didn’t have any time to waste today. Something in the foggy depths of my consciousness had remembered Las Vegas arrest of Tony Dickson and K. T. Amberlin . . . Kenneth Amberlin. Lola’s stranger who was arrested for the Creston burglaries. The first concrete link between Antonio and the break-ins.
Usually I luxuriated in a morning shower, but today I rushed into and out of the water, dressed in dark slacks and a black sweater, stared longingly for a brief moment at my Keurig before deciding I didn’t have time to sit and drink coffee. My morning java would have to wait.
I grabbed my windbreaker and dashed to my car just as the first drops of rain hit the windshield, the sky an ashen blanket of gray that threatened a deluge at any minute. The slap-slap of my wipers sounded like a drumbeat: get-going-get-going. I stepped on the accelerator and my Metro lurched forward. I coasted across Etonville; at this hour the town had not yet completely awakened and many people would wait until the storm had passed before venturing outside.
I hoped I wasn’t waking Lola up too early, but while I shampooed my hair in the shower, I’d made up my mind to confront Tiffany. What did she know about Antonio’s past? Regan Digenza? The Creston capers? Even in the worst of marriages—and I wasn’t assuming theirs was—a husband and wife probably shared information. Antonio had to have let some things slip. I also intended to pressure her into asking Bill to speed up the lab analysis of Antonio’s blood and tissue samples, maybe have them run additional tests to check for toxins.
I reached the light at Main and Anderson and flipped on my left turn signal. I glanced at my cell and tapped on Lola’s name. I wanted to talk before the light changed and I put myself in danger of breaking the law.
“Hello?” Lola said, sounding groggy.
“It’s me. I’m on my way to your place. Be there in a minute.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost eight. I have to speak with Tiffany. I have a few questions for her and you’re not going to believe what I found out about Antonio’s past,” I blurted out.
“Are you okay? You sound like you’re on speed. How much caffeine have you had this morning?”
“I’m fine, but I think we can crack this case wide open. I surfed the Internet for hours and—”
“Did you say you wanted to see Tiffany?”
“Right. Anyway, I’m going through all of these Tony Dickson links and—”
The light changed and I hung a left off of Main Street just as a white Mercedes sailed past me turning right onto Main. The car was somewhat familiar; the driver more so.
“But Tiffany’s—” Lola said.
“—not at your house. She just passed me on the road.”
“She received a call a little bit ago and said she had to meet someone in Creston. I think it’s Carlyle.”
I slowed down and pulled over to the curb. “Doesn’t he live in Queens with his mother?”
“Carlyle’s been staying at the Daytime Inn in Creston.”
“Do you know where it is?” I asked.
“You’re going there now? You could catch her later at rehearsal—”
“I can’t wait until rehearsal,” I said.
“Come by and pick me up. I’ll go with you,” Lola said.
“I don’t have much time—”
“I’ll be ready in five.”
True to her word, Lola was ready to go five minutes after I pulled into her driveway. Blond hair meticulous, brown tweed slacks and brown blazer making her look as though she’d just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. How did she do it?
“Let’s take my Lexus.”
It was fine by me. I knew Lola preferred to glide along in her sleek, luxury vehicle instead of bouncing around in my old Metro.
“But first we need to pick up Carol at Coffee Heaven,” she said as she cruised down Main.
“Carol? Why?”
“We were supposed to have breakfast this morning. We’ve been trying to get together for over a week and I—”
“Okay fine. I just want to find Tiffany as soon as possible.” Of course picking up Carol also gave me the opportunity to grab a caramel macchiato.
* * *
“Oooh this will be fun,” Carol said, and slammed the back door of the Lexus. �
�Tailing a suspect. I’m glad Rita’s opening the shop today.”
I savored my coffee. The hot liquid trickled down my throat and warmed up my insides. The temperature had dropped ten degrees since last night; a streak of lightning and clap of thunder off to the east of Etonville made us all recoil. “Tiffany’s not a suspect and we’re not really tailing her. We’re just going to pay her a visit at Carlyle’s motel room. You do have their cell numbers, right?”
“The contact sheet for the production is in my purse. Look in the outside pocket.”
I rummaged through Lola’s bag and found a sheaf of papers. “This looks like a rehearsal schedule.”
“On the bottom of the pile.”
“The girls at Snippets were right all along. Tiffany and Carlyle are a ‘thing.’ ” Carol laughed and took a bite of her bagel.
“You said the girls said it was Tiffany and Romeo.” I found the contact sheet. “Got it.”
“Well, it was Romeo at the beginning, but then after Antonio died, Tiffany went to Carlyle for comfort.”
Did Antonio know about Tiffany’s romances with his assistant and her leading man? Of course, he was a probable serial groom with three wives. Lola shot onto State Route 53, zigzagging in and out of traffic. I clutched the passenger-side armrest until my knuckles were white.
“The Creston exit is right up here,” I said.
“You don’t want to get off there,” Carol said. “The Daytime Inn is closer to the following exit. It’s at the other end of town.”
“Are you sure?” Lola asked.
“Positive. My in-laws stayed there last Christmas.” Carol spoke with confidence and ate the last of her bagel.
“What should I do?” Lola glanced sideways at me.
“Keep going, I guess.”
The GPS had a different opinion. “Recalculating.”
We took Carol’s exit and came to a stop sign at the end of the access road. “Turn right here,” she said.
“But the GPS says straight ahead,” I countered.
“You turn right here and then about a mile down the road you turn left. The Daytime Inn is on the corner.”
I shrugged. “Okay.” Lola eased into the stream of cars heading down the street.
Time Out Page 16
