Malicious Mischief (A Rylie Keyes Mystery) (Entangled Select)

by Harden, Marianne

  I laughed. “There’s been a change of plans.” I explained about the petty cash. “Tally ho, we’re off to Trader Joe’s.”

  “Ya, mawn.” He eased his foot on the gas pedal.

  We had only two blocks to travel, but when he punched the gas too hard while making the turn into the parking lot, the Pinto stalled. Los muertos.

  “You know I never swore until I started driving,” Solo said.

  As he tried to restart the engine, a Hummer screeched to a stop at our bumper, blinked its brights twice, then the driver leaned on the horn. When Solo threw up his arms and clambered his huge body from the car, the Hummer squealed in reverse and pealed rubber down another parking lot aisle.

  I looked back to the next car waiting. I stared at the man behind the wheel. Talon. He waved, albeit unenthusiastically. I waved back with matching zeal.

  My insides quivered as I pondered his reasons for following us, considering but rejecting the notion that he was in fact investigating me. It wasn’t easy of course, as I had no other theory to put in its place, which made me wonder if I was being naïve to trust him. But for all his good looks, there was something quiet, unassuming, and honest about him. I suppose time would reveal all, and make me either sensible or foolish.

  Someone was saying my name. It was Solo, bent and staring at me. “Talon must think you’re still in danger.”

  My eye twitched again. I hadn’t thought of that. “But that would be a good joke if it made sense. The killer has nothing to gain by killing me now. It’s too late. Don’t you agree?”

  He shrugged. Then he wedged back behind the wheel. “It’s a good day for Mexican food,” he said, kibitzing, as Gilad would say. Steamrolling was more like it. “He did write the Bintliff note, so you sort of owe him.”

  I don’t know what made me do it. I wasn’t even aware of coming to a decision, but the next thing I knew I was out of the Pinto and heading toward Talon. He climbed out of the car. I put on a smile, but I knew it was cautious and woefully ordinary.

  “Are you lost?” I asked him. “Bellevue can be confusing. Granddad says a drunken sailor laid out the streets.”

  “I know exactly where I am,” he said.

  My knees weakened at the raw heat in his voice.

  He leaned back inside his car and came up with some potted flowers. “For you.”

  Foxgloves, I realized with a sigh. “They’re lovely, but you shouldn’t have—”

  His finger pressed softly to my lips. “I wanted to.”

  The sunlight glimmered off the hood of the car, and there was a gentle breeze through the cherry trees where song sparrows crooned to charm a mate. He moved his hand to toy with a lock of my hair, and I bit my lip, lost in the bottomless azure of his eyes.

  “Foxgloves grow wild in the glens at home.” He moved a little closer. “They drop their seeds far and wide.”

  “I—I know. I collect them, on roadsides.” Nerves skipped down my back. “What you said before about understanding why I was looking into Otto’s murder, did you mean it?”

  “I spoke the truth.”

  I relaxed enough to smile, felt better for it. “Would you like to meet for an early dinner? Of course I understand if you’re busy—” I caught myself, censured my silly, nervous voice. “Have dinner with me, please.”

  His beautiful face brightened, charming me. “Aye.”

  “I can get away from work in about an hour. My treat.”

  Slowly, inch-by-inch, he leaned closer. He had the scent of a man who loved the natural world, and for a wild heartbeat, I imagined us as one in the forest, stealing kisses under the noble cedars, lying under the canopy of leaves where the lichen clung.

  And now his breath was warm against my neck, his lips against my skin. “My treat.”

  I thought of Talon as I had seen him watching me as he drove away, and the hint of smile on his gently tanned face, and I worried I was embarking on something I wasn’t woman enough to handle. He was out of my league. He was the guy beautiful girls dated. I could go out with him, but I could never keep him.

  “I’ve done it now,” I said as we crossed the parking lot to Trader Joe’s.

  “You’ve done it now,” Solo echoed.

  “You’re partly to blame.”

  He shrugged. “I think you’ll have a nice time, and that’s what matters.”

  “I suppose,” I said, doubtful, but brushing it aside. In less than an hour, for no more than an hour, he—no, that would never be—rather his time was mine.

  Trader Joe’s was full of activity. My friend Kevin Shapiro was standing behind the storefront employee counter. He had mink-colored hair and his eyes were amber.

  He shifted in our direction as we approached. “It’s about time. Two months, and not a peep from you. Where have you been, Rylie, busy breaking hearts?”

  “Be nice.” Solo appeared to take him seriously.

  Kevin gasped in horror. “Wanna fight?”

  Solo’s gaze stayed level.

  “Solo, he’s kidding,” I said and made introductions. “How’s your wife, Kevin, the kids?”

  “Doing fine, everyone is fine,” he said. “Hey, here’s a story for you: a blind man strolls into a store with his Seeing Eye dog. Suddenly, he yanks the leash and whirls the small dog over his head. The manager shouts, ‘what are you doing?’ The blind man replies, ‘Just looking around.’”

  Kevin burst out laughing. I joined in. Solo was not amused.

  “Mawn, that’s mean to dogs,” he said, “and blind people.”

  “Cut me some slack.” Kevin lifted a white cane from behind the counter. “I know a little something about blindness.”

  Solo gaped. “You’re blind?”

  “Totally.”

  “Then how did you know it was Rylie? She hadn’t said anything.”

  “Lavender and honey, shampoo and conditioner, I forget which goes with which,” he said. “Rylie smells great, I’d know her anywhere.”

  “Kevin is Leland’s brother-in-law,” I told Solo. “So, Kevin, how’ve you been?”

  “All right. I guess with Leland and Nava separated, you don’t see much of my big sister. Shocker. I don’t either,” he said with a small sigh.

  “Then nothing has changed between you two?” I asked.

  “Nope,” he said. “So what can I do you for?”

  I told him about the pies, and each time I paused, Solo said, “And no mincemeat.” Kevin agreed to bill FoY, so all we had to do was bring our purchases to his office, which he pointed to with his cane as he strode off.

  Several dozen pies chosen, I pushed the shopping cart toward his office while Solo walked alongside. We entered after a quick knock. Kevin wasn’t there.

  “What?” Solo said over my shoulder.

  I looked around and saw what was what. In the corner stood a huge stack of orange and black boxes, floor to ceiling, all in various sizes with a Hermes logo on the lids. Thunderstruck, I looked up and down, up and down.

  “This is bad, Solo, really bad,” I said.

  “It sure is crazy, but why bad?”

  “Kevin was a kleptomaniac as a teen. Klepto, they called him. And he stole only empty Hermes boxes.” Sick at heart, I sighed. “He’s been straight for over ten years.”

  “Maybe these boxes were from before,” Solo said.

  I shook my head. “His therapist made him cut all ties to past behavior. He gave back or tossed everything he’d stolen.”

  “You’re right, then. This is bad,” Solo said.

  I nodded thoughtfully. “What should I do?” I asked him.

  He brooded a moment. “Be honest, I guess. Tell him what’s bothering you.”

  “Okay.” I groaned.

  Whistling, Kevin strode into the office, rounded his desk, and took a seat with the ease of a sighted person. “I know you’re there,” he said after a minute of silence. “Hello, hello.”

  “We have pies,” I said, stupidly lost for a way to bring up the Hermes boxes.

 
; “Awesome,” he said and pulled closer the Braille calculator on his desk. “Fire away.”

  I looked at Solo, and he shrugged.

  Then came the sound of glass breaking in the hallway. A clerk opened the office door and popped his head inside. “It’s just a jar of pickles. I’ll get it cleaned up in a jiffy. By the way, boss, there wasn’t a single Hermes box in the Dumpsters this morning,” he said and closed the door behind him.

  The surprise of that, and the sight of Kevin’s face unruffled and free of guilt, had me shaking my head. I bit my lip, willing myself not to blurt out cruelly, “Kevin, are you stealing again?”

  Instead came a muttering from Solo. “So you hide the boxes in the Dumpsters?”

  Kevin grinned at him, then at me. “Now I get it, the long silence. Guys, I am not stealing again. I’m clean, I promise. No more stealing to silence the noises. Believe me, all these boxes didn’t come from me,” he said. “I’ve got the staff collecting them from the Dumpsters out back each morning. It’s sort of a game now. A sick game, but they’ve no idea the significance of Hermes, or my history.”

  I finally found my voice. “How long has it been going on?”

  “Two months, shortly after I took over this store as manager.”

  “Now you’re freaking me out,” Solo said. “Someone is out to get you by putting them close by so you’ll be blamed.”

  “Exactly,” he whispered, the anguish in his tone roaring in the murmured word. “Their goal, I suspect, is to destroy my career.”

  “You’re taking this pretty lightly,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “We always have choices,” I contradicted him. “Who’s doing this to you?”

  He stared blindly ahead, but said nothing.

  “Kevin,” I urged. “Who wants it to look like you’re stealing again?”

  “Ya, mawn, tell us,” Solo said. “Maybe we can help.”

  Kevin remained silent until at last I went to him and crouched beside his chair. “Rylie,” he said, a heartbreaking gleam in his sightless eyes. “I can’t.”

  “But why?”

  “There’s a weapon for every fight, and sometimes that weapon is silence,” was all he said.

  The pies looked delicious. If I wasn’t so nervous about meeting Talon in a little while and worried for Kevin, I would have had a piece or two, maybe three. The seniors kept coming back for more. They munched as happily on the fruit varieties as they did the creams. In fact, it was only now with most on their second serving that I could get ahead of demand.

  I had three plates of pecan awaiting pick up when Solo handed me a cherry pie from the box. With no one currently in line, I took my time cutting wedges and transferring them to plates. Though when I turned to place these beside the others, the three pecans where gone.

  I scanned the vacant dining hall, hailed Solo, and asked if he’d seen who had taken them.

  “Nope,” Solo said, and when I still looked stumped, he added, “All the seniors are outside on the patio. That Kevin sure was a nice guy, and he sounded sincere about not stealing again,” Solo said. “Wonder who’s trying to sabotage him. I think he knows, though. What kind of low life would want to kill his career?”

  I was arranging the plates of cherry pie on the linen tablecloth. “A sibling low life,” I said. “I bet it’s Nava. She’s been jealous of Kevin forever. She thinks he gets more of their parents’ attention because he’s blind.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  I gasped. “Unbelievable is right. I just remembered something. I saw orange and black boxes in the Oleys’ van this morning.”

  “So you’re saying they’re putting them in the Dumpster for Nava?”

  I took a moment to puzzle it out. “No, I think it’s more likely that they’re taking them out. You know, I bet that’s why Leland paid them extra money. He’s trying to save Kevin’s career. Even though he loves Nava, he knows what she’s like, and he’s very fond of Kevin.”

  “Aw, so nice,” Solo said.

  “I know, right?”

  With the seniors eating pie outside, we relaxed a little, our backs to the serving table, congratulating each other for our stroke of luck at putting together another piece to the puzzle.

  Solo’s eyes went huge.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll tell Talon, explain about the extra cash. It’ll be one less black mark against Leland.”

  Eyes frozen wide, Solo pointed a finger over his shoulder.

  I turned my neck, my eyes narrowing as a skinny hand crept up from beneath the linen skirted cloth, fingered a plate of cherry pie, and dragged it beneath the table.

  We both bent and lifted the skirted cloth. Teenager and FoY volunteer Farley McCray was beneath the table and beside him were three empty plates. The missing pecans.

  “Taste good?” I grabbed another plate of cherry. “Let’s make a deal. All the pie you want in exchange for why you were in Otto’s room.”

  He shook his head, his spectacles slipping down his slender nose.

  “Probably should have asked him before he ate three pieces,” Solo said.

  “You and Leland are close,” I said to the boy. “Good buds.”

  Farley smiled a little, nodding his fine-haired head. Truth was I knew Leland saw a lot of himself in Farley as both were smart and bullied for it.

  “I want to explain about being in Leland’s office,” I told him. “I know how it must have looked, no lights, looking through files. But sometimes being straightforward and investigating a murder don’t always mix—”

  “Leland didn’t kill Otto,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “And I’m glad you know it, too. We’re trying to clear his name.”

  Short silence. “I’ve been hiding from the police. Two were here before. The blond one seemed sort of mean.”

  Lipschitz. “The truth has to come out,” I said.

  His bespectacled eyes narrowed.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Tell us what happened, I’ll see what I can do.”

  He thought for a moment. Then he nodded.

  However, first we had to serve more pie to a group of fast approaching seniors, while Farley ate another two slices. Anthelme Brillat-Savarin decreed, “Tell me what you eat, I’ll tell you who you are.” Farley was pie.

  Suddenly Jane Gettelfinger pushed through the line of seniors and bore down on Elsa. “Where is it?” she demanded. “Where is Hank? What have you done with him?”

  From the prep table, I looked to Solo, and he looked over at me. We both smiled. It was not a rumor of Hollywood proportion, but just as juicy, the seniors broke out in murmurs and chuckles.

  “Tell me,” Jane said, almost in tears. “Where is he?”

  Elsa shrugged. “Then tell me the truth.”

  “Bitch,” Jane spat and stomped from the room.

  Solo strode over. “Why would Elsa steal Hank?”

  “To get even, I think, for her, you know, herpes,” I whispered.

  A puzzled look came to his face. “Where was it again you found the medical files?”

  “On the desk Gilad uses in Leland’s office. They were in his finished tray.”

  “Finished as in worked on, information dealt with, stuff looked at?” He sounded worried.

  “That’s my guess since the tray was labeled Finished & Ready to File.”

  “Rylie.” His face was now grim. “Wouldn’t that mean Gilad knew Elsa had lied about the affair with Otto and the way she got herpes? Gilad would have seen Otto’s chart, Jane’s too.”

  Omigod. “Gilad has no motive. He has no motive.”

  “It’s all right. It’s okay. This isn’t as bad as it looks.” He skimmed a hand through his thick hair. “This is only a minor setback. We just need to move on to the next suspect.”

  Needing something to take the taste of failure from my mouth, I licked pie off my fingers. “What other suspect? We’ve proved everybody innocent but Leland.”

 
“Then the best way to prove Leland innocent is to prove him guilty.” He flashed a smile too cute to be insincere. “So far it’s worked like a charm.”

  I let myself lean against him. Let it soothe me. “Do you ever feel like you’re going backward?”

  He tipped up my chin. “Not when the train is still on the track.”

  It took another ten minutes, but finally the seniors had their fill of pie. Solo and I were anxious to talk to Farley, hoping his information would help exonerate Leland. For example, Leland might have found out about Otto breaking Jewish law by eating pork and sent Farley into his room to confiscate his morning bacon.

  The moment had arrived; we were alone in the dining hall again. All three of us at a corner table, Farley still eating pie—peach—and Solo and I sitting across from him.

  “Trust me, I didn’t go into Otto’s room to steal,” Farley said in between bites.

  I slumped a little. “Not even bacon.”

  “Huh?” he asked over his fork.

  “Never mind. Go on,” I said.

  Farley bent. “Otto hid something. I saw it when I mopped up after his toilet overflowed.”

  “Damn low-flow toilets,” Solo put in.

  Farley nodded and shoveled in another forkful. “I watched until Otto left and went back into his room. I wanted to show Mr. Leland, but it was gone. That’s when Miss Elsa saw me.”

  “What did Otto hide?” I asked.

  “When I hit the wall with the mop, a tile popped off. And there it was,” he said.

  “What was it?” Solo asked.

  “A stupid looking watch. I told Mr. Leland what I saw.”

  “I saw that watch,” I said. “It’s the one Otto lost to Booth in the poker game.”

  “Expensive watch,” Solo said.

  “Totally,” Farley agreed. “The next day I listen in while Mr. Leland—” He grimaced, looked down. “I hide sometimes under Gilad’s desk, to read his medical journals. I would have asked, but you know how he is with, you know, germs. He’s got lots of journals. I like the ones on bacteria, rashes, and plagues best. They’re so creepy, especially the pictures.”