04 Cold Case and Cupcakes

by Harper Lin

  “You worry because, despite what John thinks he knows, you are a wonderful person who cares about other people and their feelings. Only someone special would go into Brookhaven to talk to a stranger in an attempt to ease their pain. Your ex-husband doesn’t know you. And it’s driving him crazy.”

  “I hope you’re right about the driving-him-crazy part. Every little bit helps.”

  The women laughed just as the timer for the oven went off. A second batch of vanilla cupcakes was ready for decorating. Although Lila had learned quite a bit about the art of mixing ingredients and balancing the books, she left the real artwork to Amelia.

  Each was decorated with care and love. So much so that Mother Mary could come down from Heaven and indulge in any one of the confectionaries, assuming its perfection was on display especially for her. But it was Amelia’s signature. The cupcakes weren’t just delicious with unique flavors—they were pretty. The newspapers that reviewed The Pink Cupcake called them works of art for the eyes and taste buds.

  It may not have seemed like much to John. Nothing she did ever seemed like much to him. But to Amelia, the big hot-pink truck, the matching T-shirts and aprons, the whole wild scene of Food Truck Alley was beautiful.

  So when John came and picked up the kids after school on Friday, she was more than happy to stay in the house when he pulled up after getting the truck washed and waxed to a blinding sparkle.

  She kissed Adam and Meg, told them to be good and do their homework, then shut the door behind them, listening for the doors on John’s car to slam shut and the sound of the engine pulling out of the driveway and driving away.

  She let her shoulders relax and slid her feet across the tiled floor into the kitchen. There, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat down in front of her laptop to do a little research on Timothy Casey. From what she could gather about him on Facebook and his business website, Sandra Dwight was spot on when she said he was a good guy.

  His business website for plumbing and bathroom remodeling boasted satisfactory reviews from almost one hundred customers who claimed he handled their plumbing problem promptly and professionally and that his prices were reasonable. His showroom featured fancy copper piping along with elegant sinks, toilets, sunken bathtubs, and showers that sported five strategically placed showerheads so every shower could be like a spa treatment.

  “Too bad I don’t have any plumbing problems,” Amelia said.

  She scanned his Facebook page. There were posts relating to a birthday party for an alderman from some neighborhood Amelia wasn’t familiar with. There were pictures of a man who Amelia could guess was Casey laughing while leaning into a firefighter, both of them holding beers in what looked like a party at the station.

  “Firefighters celebrate Station #270 Historic Landmark Status.” Amelia took a sip of wine as she read the article. According to the reporter, Tim Casey helped get the building researched and registered as a historic building and also listed as one of the most distinguished landmarks in Gary.

  “How many landmarks does Gary have?”

  Amelia continued to read.

  Timothy did a lot of work with the VA Hospital. He organized the local motorcycle club’s Toys for Tots drive every Christmas season. He golfed, knew karate, and when he wasn’t working or organizing some event, he was hanging out at home, working out with his two pit bulls, Rosie and Max.

  “No mention of a wife or fiancée. No mention of children.” Amelia leaned in to the screen and squinted. A few years ago, Timothy Casey might have looked slightly different. He might have had a little more hair, and maybe he was a little harder around the middle. But he wasn’t that handsome. He wasn’t ugly but rather plain. Certainly he was no match for Kyle Spoon in the looks department. But judging by all the pictures with friends, Amelia thought Timothy must have made up for it in personality. From where she was sitting, he looked as if he were playing the part of the king of the prom.

  “Well, this might not be so bad.”

  She planned to stop by the business and ask a plumbing question. Simple enough, right? People did that, didn’t they? Or maybe they called first?

  “No. The element of surprise is better,” she assured herself.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, Amelia woke up to a bright sun shining in her room and nothing but quiet. She loved her kids, but there was something about waking up to a completely quiet house that she savored. Stretching in her bed, she looked at the clock. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet on her day off.

  The Pink Cupcake had been doing so well that there were a few Saturdays during the past few months that she didn’t have to be at her usual spot next to the Philly Cheese Steak truck. Today, she was especially glad of that.

  After sleeping on it, she thought maybe Lila was right. She hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. She just went to dinner with another person, and when that person tried to kiss her, she stopped it. Nothing happened.

  As she thought about it, Amelia felt the webs of confusion forming again, and her thoughts were getting all gummed up in them.

  “Come on!” she yelled to the empty house. “You’re not in high school. It’s no big deal!” With a grunt and a sigh, she pulled herself out of bed, hit the shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to make a cup of coffee.

  She opened her laptop, to the same web page of a grinning Timothy Casey staring back at her. Without overthinking it, Amelia grabbed her purse, locked the front door, climbed into her trusty sedan, and started the engine. A new car would be needed soon. If sales continued the way they were going for a little while longer, there might be an opportunity to upgrade. She could practically hear Adam’s argument as to why he should inherit the sedan. He could run errands for her. He could drive Meg to school. What if there was some kind of emergency?

  Shaking her head, she decided she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. For now, she had to keep her eyes open for Waterware. The stretch of this road was industrial, with a couple of block-shaped buildings supporting smokestacks that waved gray silken scarves of smoke out the top.

  The parking lots were full since these factories operated twenty-four hours a day. Wedged in between the factories were a few businesses.

  Shapiro’s Deli was one. That had to make a killing every day since it was the only lunch place around aside from the McDonald’s two blocks over and a 7-11 convenience store at the end of the block.

  A currency exchange was next to the deli. That place probably had a line a mile long every payday. Beside it was an empty unit with a For Rent sign in the window.

  Finally, stretching across two units was the sign that read Waterware. Showcased in the window was a giant copper bathtub, an elegant sink that looked as if it was sitting on a stone pedestal, the bowl made of green glass that looked like leaves, and a shower stall like the one on the website that had jets coming from six angles.

  As she parked her car, Amelia wondered if she shouldn’t have dressed up to pay Mr. Casey a visit. She hated to admit it, but sometimes it helped to look her best when trying to get information out of a man.

  When she approached the door, she noticed a little sign that read Please Ring Bell, and she did just that.

  Within seconds, a young woman with blond hair and a grumpy expression came to the door. She yanked it open as if it were the last thing in the world she wanted to do.

  “Hi. Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t. Is Timothy Casey in today?”

  “Yeah. Just have a seat. I’ll get him.”

  Amelia smiled and sat down on a hard wooden bench that faced the showroom.

  Along the wall across from her were dozens of showerheads of all shapes, sizes, and colors. At the other end of the room, there were toilets and bidets that looked like exotic porcelain sculptures. A row of custom shower stalls lined the back wall, and throughout the showroom floor were tubs and sinks with their own unique faucets that screamed expensive.

  She noticed
the wall of bizarre metal racks. She caught a glimpse of the hanging price tag and almost choked. Twelve hundred dollars? For electric towel warmers?

  Amelia shook her head. Could she ever see herself buying such a thing? Even if she had twelve hundred dollars to throw around, this would have to be at the bottom of her list, right after voluntary root canal.

  This setup was certainly not what she had in mind when she heard the word plumber.

  “Who is it?” Amelia heard a male voice from around the corner in what she assumed was an office.

  “I don’t know.” It was the voice of the grump who opened the door.

  “Did you ask?”

  “I asked if she had an appointment. She said no.”

  A chair scraped. There was some mumbling, then suddenly, the man Amelia had seen smiling and laughing on Facebook appeared.

  “Hi. I’m Tim Casey. Can I help you?”

  “Amelia Harley. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I needed an appointment.”

  “No, it’s okay. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. Can we talk in your office?”

  “Sure. Are you looking to have some remodeling done?”

  “Not exactly.” Amelia followed behind Tim until he stretched out his hand, indicating where his office was.

  Amelia stepped inside and was shocked at the difference between the office and the rest of the showroom. Papers were scattered all over the desk in multiple piles that looked as if they hadn’t been touched in months. Pieces of plumbing were on the floor. Copper piping of various sizes, a couple showerheads, plastic zip ties, three plungers, and a drain snake were scattered around an old-fashioned olive-green file cabinet.

  There were photos all over the walls of Tim at a golf course, at restaurants, and holding plaques, shaking hands and smiling in each and every one. He knew people. Even the late Mayor Pearl was standing next to him in one of them.

  The desk Tim sat behind was a huge metal monstrosity like the nuns used to have at Amelia’s grade school when she was growing up. It was a metal behemoth that, once settled in a spot, wasn’t ever going to move again.

  “I was hoping you might be able to tell me about the night Preston Dwight was killed.”

  Amelia waited for Tim to stop and either glare at her or slip into a melancholy state at the mention of the name. Instead, she got blindsided.

  “Who?”

  That was an odd response.

  “Preston Dwight. He was Starla-Ann Dwight’s son, who was murdered about ten years ago.” Amelia took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Tim walked around the desk and plunked down in his seat with a grunt.

  “Miss Harley, right? Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” She smiled patiently. “Do you remember anything about that night, Mr. Casey?”

  “Call me Tim.” He rubbed his chin, the stubbly whiskers making a scratchy noise. “I know you aren’t a cop, Miss Harley, because I know every uniform in Gary plus half the surrounding towns.” He folded his hands and leaned forward on his desk.

  “I didn’t say I was a cop.” She smiled and blinked her eyes innocently. “I spoke with Sandra Dwight, Starla-Ann’s sister. She mentioned what a great guy you were to her sister. You seemed to make an impression on her.”

  Tim snapped his fingers.

  “Dwight. Yes.” He slapped his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Miss Harley. I guess you could say I get around, and sometimes a name just doesn’t register at first.” He waved a lazy hand around his head. “Yes, I remember Starla-Ann. We dated for a while. But the death of her son, well, jeez, that just sort of put an end to things between us.”

  “Please, call me Amelia. There seems to be a consensus that the boy’s father, Kyle Spoon, was responsible. Do you think that’s true?”

  “I think it’s completely possible. The man had a drinking problem and a temper. Not to mention his life seemed to be speeding quickly in no particular direction. I’d had more than one confrontation with him.”

  “Really? What about…if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Over Starla-Ann and Preston. I guess he thought being a bad father was better than me being the boy’s father.”

  “You and Starla were that serious?”

  “Absolutely. But there’s only so much baggage a man can take on. Once Preston was gone, Starla-Ann just couldn’t function. I wanted to help her. But she just sort of slipped away. Plus, with Kyle walking around free, it was a daily reminder of what he’d done to her son. It was just sad.”

  “Yeah, it really is. Why do you think the police never arrested Kyle?”

  “I couldn’t tell you that. But a guy like that knows the system. He knows how to slip through the cracks. I’m sure they all knew it was him but couldn’t pin it down. Like he was the O. J. Simpson of Gary.” Tim chuckled at his own comment. “If I ever saw the guy again, I’d have plenty to say to him.”

  Amelia leaned forward. “I’ll bet you would.” She nodded, but strangely, her gut was twisting a little inside. “Tim, did you speak to a guy named David Scranton at all? He was the reporter looking into Preston’s case recently. Maybe you heard about him on the news? He was found murdered in a motel.”

  Tim furrowed his brows in thought then shook his head.

  “No. I don’t recall ever talking to anyone by that name.” He began to chuckle. “I guess I’m just too busy to keep on top of local news.”

  “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Amelia stood from her chair and leaned forward, her hand extended. “I really appreciate you talking to me.”

  Tim shook her hand. His palm was sweaty.

  “Do you live in Gary, Amelia?”

  “I do. I remember when the story about Preston’s death happened. My boy was the same age at the time.”

  “Well, here.” He handed her a business card. “If you ever need any plumbing work done, please give me a call. We do remodeling, but we also provide regular plumbing services, too.”

  “Thanks, Tim. I’ll do that.”

  Tim walked Amelia to the door and held it open for her as she walked out. She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way to her car and wondered if he was looking because she was a woman or if there was another reason.

  Amelia hadn’t realized her hands had been clenched into fists until she reached for her car door and climbed in, immediately locking the doors again once she was safely behind the wheel.

  She slipped on her sunglasses as she looked back at the door, but Tim was gone.

  Chapter Eight

  “That was weird,” she told the steering wheel. Tim was a nice-enough guy. She didn’t think there was anything particularly creepy about him. Something just felt odd. A guy who was not only a witness to the devastating effects of a child murder but also a person of interest in that murder forgot the name of the victim? He was either in the early stages of Alzheimer’s or lying.

  Plus, the story of Scranton’s death was in the paper. Between all his friends and clients, he would have heard about it. Especially since Tim was associated with the cold case. People talked in Gary.

  Amelia’s stomach grumbled.

  “That’s it. I’m not thinking straight. I’m hungry.” She contemplated going to Shapiro’s Deli but decided to go on an adventure to find something else.

  She took a different route toward home and found herself at Wolf Road, where the No-Tell Motel was. It was practically walking distance from Waterware.

  “Now that is a weird coincidence.”

  Amelia made a split-second decision and turned in to the parking lot. She shut off her engine, got out, and headed toward the part of the building with the neon sign that read O-F-F-I-C-E.

  Inside, she saw the man who had been questioned by the uniformed officer the other day. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and baggy jeans, and his feet were exposed in a pair of flip-flops. The little bell over the door rang when she went in. He turned his bulldog face in h
er direction but immediately changed his demeanor when he saw Amelia walk in.

  “Hi.” He waved cheerfully as if he’d been expecting her. “Nice afternoon out there. I sure wish I wasn’t stuck in here.”

  His friendly demeanor didn’t fit his appearance at all. Never judge a book.

  Amelia smiled but still got the feeling his friendliness was a little forced.

  “Hi. I’d like a room.”

  The manager nodded and looked Amelia up and down.

  “Would you like our hourly nap, or is this for overnight?” It was the No-Tell Motel, and Amelia was sure there was no telling what was going on in some of the rooms. There was no telling what she was going to do, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that the place popped up in front of her like a lightning bolt.

  “Just a nap. That sounds perfect.”

  “Okay. Cash or charge?”

  “Cash.” Surprisingly, the manager did his job with very little concern with what she was there for. He pulled out a small paper receipt, scribbled some information on it in barely legible script, and tore off the top copy to hand to her.

  “That’ll be $35 dollars for two hours. Anything over six hours gets charged the overnight fee.”

  “Okay.”

  As Amelia felt around for her wallet in her purse, she took a quick glance around the room and saw that there were cameras strategically placed in the corners: one aimed at the door, the other at the counter. On one side sat an old brown couch that didn’t look very comfortable, sandwiched between two end tables.

  She handed over the cash, realizing she would not be treating herself to a special “kids are gone so treat yourself ” dinner of sushi or Moody’s burgers. It would be leftover chili or maybe peanut butter and jelly.

  Suppressing a sigh, she watched the manager put the money in a lock box behind the counter and lift a key off a corkboard with half a dozen other keys.