Lucky Stuff (Jane Wheel Mysteries)

by Fiffer, Sharon

  Jane half-listened. She heard Tim talk about living in Los Angeles for a few months in winter and Maurice living in Kankakee. Maurice was from Chicago and had close family ties there. He was also interested in going back to theater set design and Chicago would offer those opportunities. She heard Tim talk about new beginnings and how sometimes one had to shake things up.

  “Breathe new air?” asked Jane.

  “Yes, exactly. We have to breathe new air,” said Tim. “Maybe you should try it, too,” he suggested gently.

  “So you and I are still partners in the business, in T & T Sales?” asked Jane.

  Tim nodded.

  “In that case, I’ve got the new location covered. Have you made the insurance claim on all of my lost stuff?”

  Tim winced. “Yes. But I’ll make sure it’s more than a check. I’ll make up the lost stuff, Jane, I swear.”

  “Let’s go bowling,” said Jane. “We’ll talk about exactly what you’re going to do for me later.”

  The automatic doors to the bowling alley opened with a whoosh and Jane felt a wave of nostalgia brought on by the sounds of the bowling balls hitting the wooden alley floors, the rolling, the crashing, the thwaks and thuds that couldn’t be mistaken for any other sounds. Jane and Tim looked at each other. How old were they when they first got dropped off at the bowling alley with other kids for a summer afternoon of lugging a ball to the line and hoping it would roll straight down the center? A Kankakee childhood was not one programmed with summer camps and enrichment programs—at least not when Jane and Tim were growing up—and their parents, desperate to stave off the cries of boredom, looked for any activity that would keep their children contained, cool, and safe. Oddly enough, a bowling alley, so often the seedy location of many a noir novel or B-movie, was deemed acceptable as one of the safer spots in Kankakee for unchaperoned activity.

  Jane didn’t realize then, of course, that Don and Nellie had called ahead and told Lou, the bar manager, that the kids were coming and sounded the alert. Morrie, in charge of shoe rental, and Sylvie, the day waitress, as well as Angie, the bartender, were all charged with keeping an eye on Don and Nellie’s girl and her friends. All of the laissez-faire parenting that Jane believed Don and Nellie participated in was a complete and total sham. When she was sixteen, Glenn at the gas station told her that Don had always called ahead when she was bringing her car in and that the night waitress at the bowling alley, Doris, had told him that Nellie always called when Jane was headed to the lanes with her high school friends. Apparently long before Hillary Clinton reminded the United States that it takes a village, Don and Nellie had been pioneering the philosophy in Kankakee.

  Lucky Miller was circulating among the teams already in their second and third frames of competition. Nellie was not bowling herself, but managed to make it to the line for instructional purposes with several members of the EZ Way Inn team. Don was drinking a beer, standing back, and smiling at his wife, content to let her fulfill her role as “Team Manager,” as it said on her shirt.

  Wally’s Tap had a team and the various crews from Lucky Productions were represented. Sal waved at Jane from lane fourteen, where an all-male crew wore black shirts with gold lettering, reading WE DRIVE AND BOWL LIKE CRAZY! The drivers were going head to head with an all-female team who Jane could only guess were the hair and makeup stylists since their tight-fitting green shirts said WE PUT LIPSTICK ON A BOWLING BALL AND CALL IT A.… Jane had no idea what the joke behind the fill-in-the-blank could be.

  Jane looked for a team made up of writers, thinking they would have much cleverer bowling shirts. Malcolm was sitting with a group, but if they were indeed writers, they were not a credit to the profession since they all wore plain Lucky Production T-shirts.

  A cheer went up from the drivers. Sal had just rolled a strike. He waved in Jane’s direction and she waved back. Nellie saw her waving and motioned her over. Jane kissed Tim’s cheek and pointed to Maurice, who was handing out shirts to two other teams who had yet to start their first match.

  “Better get a team shirt before they’re gone.”

  Tim shook his head. “We’ve already shared many things, but it’s a little early to let him see me bowl.”

  After Jane saw Maurice greet Tim with as much enthusiasm and warmth as she knew he deserved, she turned her attention to Nellie, who was still waving at her, balancing on her tiptoes as if that added half inch would make her easier to spot.

  “What the hell took you so long?” asked Nellie, then she momentarily turned back into the coach. “Jeez, Francis, roll the ball in a straight line, why don’t you?”

  “What did I miss?”

  “Your boss Lucky’s been blowing a lot of hot air. One of the office girls got a ball dropped on her toe and had to go to the emergency room. There was a lot of screaming and crying over that. Oh, and that guy over there, Mack’s grandson or nephew or whatever the hell he is? He’s been running around setting out the food and I think he’s having a nervous breakdown. Other than that, it’s your average bowling tournament,” said Nellie. “Not again,” she yelled at Francis when he failed to pick up an easy spare.

  Sam was unpacking platters of food on two long folding tables, which had been set up to the south of the shoe rental counter. He had draped a colorful checked cloth over the surface and was shuffling and rearranging baskets and platters, looking at them from all angles. Although Jane wasn’t sure that her mother’s nervous breakdown diagnosis was accurate, he was definitely jumpy. When someone brushed by the table and tried to snatch a chip from one of the baskets, Jane could see, if not hear, him barking at the poor scavenger. He looked back and forth, from his table to the lanes where he studied the bowlers, looking from team to team, squinting at the score sheets that were illuminated over the lanes.

  “Do you have money bet on this?” asked Jane, coming up behind Sam.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam turned, then saw it was Jane and tried to recover himself. He was an average-looking guy who would have been cast as the best friend in a buddy movie, but never considered for the lead. Jane caught herself, realizing she often missed her old job as a creative director. She still studied people’s faces as if she were casting for a beer commercial. In his grandfather’s diner, Sam always looked cool and calm, but here, he was sweating profusely over his catering chores. When she first met him, Jane had guessed his age to be late twenties, maybe early thirties, but watching him squint and grimace and frown at the bags and boxes of food, she would have said his furrowed face was that of a man closer to middle-aged, whatever number that currently was.

  “Do you need some help?”

  Sam shook his head and offered her a sandwich. It was a peace offering and as far as Jane could tell, looking at the small sprouted wheat bun piled with fragrant chicken salad, it was an effective one.

  “Delicious. You didn’t learn this recipe from your grandfather; curry powder hadn’t come to Kankakee in his day,” Jane said, her mouth full of chicken and almonds and grapes and the delicate satisfying warmth of the curry. “Marco Polo had not yet arrived with spices. Is there cilantro in here?” she asked.

  Sam nodded, distracted enough by the compliment to almost smile.

  “I went to culinary school in New York. I came back here thinking it might be fun to open my own place, simple stuff, comfort food like my grandpa’s, but a notch above, you know?” said Sam. “I got a lot of loans to pay.”

  Jane stopped savoring her sandwich for a moment and looked at the young chef. Sam wasn’t just explaining his situation; it sounded more like he was offering an apology. Or a confession.

  “Aunt Ruthie said I should try opening the diner, but the startup was going to cost a fortune, Then Lucky Miller came to town throwing money around and Aunt Ruthie said she knew how I could make even more. I thought she was crazy. She’s pretty old and most of the time she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s always been loopy, you know, since she was a little girl. Her brother died
when she was little and my mom said it made her battier than she already was. She was my mom’s aunt so I guess she was my great-great…”

  “Sam, was her last name Boynton?” said Jane, putting down her napkin.

  “Where the hell is Sluggo? Why isn’t he on the team with the drivers?” asked Sam. “He hasn’t answered his cell phone, I can’t get him at the hotel.”

  “Sam,” said Jane. How could he not know that Sluggo died? Jane did a quick calendar check in her head. It had been two days, but it was possible that the Kankakee paper hadn’t reported the death since they wouldn’t have released the name until the family was notified. And maybe Lucky’s people had tried to keep it out of the news. Anyone as superstitious as Lucky wouldn’t want any bad karma to be associated with this project. But Lucky’s people were in and out of the diner all the time. Wouldn’t Sluggo’s death be the main topic of conversation?

  “What?” said Sam, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Jane noticed that it had gone quiet in the bowling alley. Not silent, but as quiet as a still functioning bowling alley could get. Several of the teams had stopped their matches to gather in and watch what was unfolding on lane fourteen, where Sal and the team of drivers were matched up against the hair and makeup crew. Jane noticed Fran, the accountant, was also bowling on the makeup team.

  Looking up at the scores projected overhead, Jane saw that the third member of the men’s team had just completed his fifth frame. The score read X, X, X, X, X. Sal was halfway through a perfect game. No one spoke directly to him or about the phenomenon. Instead they high-fived each other and gave him serious nods. Jane knew that when someone was approaching “perfection,” it was bad luck to say anything out loud. No one mentioned a perfect game to a baseball pitcher on his way to a no-hitter and no one was speaking to Sal.

  By now, Sam had looked up and realized the focus of everyone’s attention. He clearly was more interested in what Jane had to tell him about Sluggo. Because the place had quieted down so much, Jane could hear the whoosh of the automatic doors and saw a woman limp in, leaning heavily on a cane. Jane recognized her as one of the design assistants she had seen helping Maurice. On her right, looking uncomfortable carrying her purse and sweater over his arm, was one of the basketball players from the park.

  “Lucky, you sonofabitch!”

  Her voice sounded a little groggy, her words a bit slurred, but there was no mistaking her message. The crowds gathered around lane fourteen shushed her and she hobbled over to see what might be more interesting than what she had just experienced in the hospital emergency room.

  “Jane, where’s Sluggo?” asked Sam.

  “He died, Sam. He left the hospital and had another allergic reaction in the car when another driver, Mickey picked him up and he didn’t…”

  Sam slumped into a chair next to the food table, dropping the napkins and plastic forks he was holding in his right hand. The white papers fluttered to the floor and spread out around the table, and Jane, reflexively, bent to pick them up.

  “I heard somebody say his EpiPen didn’t work when he collapsed at the Steak and Brew, but I thought he was okay,” said Sam, his voice almost a whisper. If Sal hadn’t been rolling the ball and the alley hadn’t gone dead quiet, Jane wouldn’t have heard him.

  “My partner was going to let me know if there was anything fishy in the medical report, but Sluggo was okay before he left the hospital. I saw him there. There was a candy wrapper in the car that caused a second reaction.”

  A roar went up as Sal’s bowling ball smashed and scattered ten pins. Jane looked up and saw an X fill up the box on the score sheet.

  “If you know something about Sluggo’s death that would—” Jane said.

  “Why should I know anything?” said Sam. “I don’t know him, he just came in the diner and he seemed like a nice guy, that’s all.”

  “I’m not sure why you’re lying or what you’re lying about, Sam, but you are lying. Not to speak ill of the dead, but no one I’ve met here ever said Sluggo was a nice guy. That is not why you’re so upset,” said Jane.

  “You tell me what your partner says about Sluggo’s EpiPen,” said Sam, “and I’ll tell you something back.” Sam turned away from Jane and began to empty chips and vegetables into lined baskets. Digging deeper into one of his canvas bags, he hauled out all the fixings for guacamole including two large mocaljetes and pestles for smashing the avocados. Two young girls, one of them the actress who looked so much like young Ruthie hustled in and Sam gave them both the evil eye.

  “Sorry, we’re late. Suli called us from the hospital and asked us to look up some stuff and make some calls for her, so we got delayed,” said the Ruthie look-alike.

  “Don’t care why, just get cracking on the guac. As soon as that guy misses a pin, everybody’s going to remember there’s free food and come over here. We better be ready,” said Sam.

  “Is that Suli?” asked Jane pointing to the woman with the cane.

  “Yeah, and boy, did she have a time at the hospital. I mean they were real nice and everything, but the insurance cards Lucky gave us don’t work and she had to use a friend’s credit card to guarantee payment. She made me call the number on the card and it turns out there isn’t any ‘special coverage’ like Lucky told us. I told my boyfriend who’s got the lighting all rigged up and he’s taking everything down in the studio right now. Said he can’t risk his equipment or a lawsuit if anyone gets hurt.”

  “More guac, less talk,” said Sam, from the other end of the table.

  “I better get busy,” said the actress-waitress. We’re all going to need the free food. If Lucky was bullshitting on insurance, he’s probably bullshitting on paychecks, too. Might as well let Sal get some glory before we spoil the party, huh?” she said, looking up at the overhead score, as another smash of bowling ball meeting pins inflamed the crowd.

  X appeared overhead as cheers went up.

  Jane looked up at the whoosh of the automatic doors opening to the lanes. Since the sixth frame, more and more spectators had arrived, all whispering about what was happening on lane fourteen, but no one spoke above a whisper around Sal. This new visitor was not, however, a regular fan of ten-pin bowling. Instead, Bruce Oh walked through the door, looking confused at the number of people surrounding one lane and, instead of heading over to the crowd as so many would do, he scanned the room. Jane waited for her partner to complete his survey and when their eyes met, she smiled and walked over to meet him. Perfect timing. She had figured things out but still needed the one missing piece she hoped he was there to provide.

  “This is the team that is winning? That’s why all are watching them?” asked Oh.

  Jane pointed up to the score sheet. “Know anything about bowling?”

  “Just enough to know that the player, Sal, might have reason to celebrate tonight,” said Oh, reading the name and the score on the overhead projection.

  “I’m afraid Lucky’s not going to be celebrating. I think I figured out what he doesn’t remember and maybe why he wouldn’t want to remember, but since the crowd here will be ready to tar and feather him when they find out this whole roast thing is an empty promise, he’ll probably prefer to forget everything that happens in Kankakee this time around, too.”

  “One bit of news that can’t be called good, but at least isn’t worse, is the medical report from Detective Ramey. He said that Mr. Mettleman’s EpiPen could not have been emptied, at least not fully. They’ve gone over the tests that were administered when he was admitted to the hospital. He had the medicine in his system.”

  “That news might get me another chicken salad sandwich,” said Jane, watching Sam pile the food on the plates. “But I’d like him to explain the details.”

  “As would I, Mrs. Wheel,” said Oh, “since I have no idea what chicken salad has to do with anything. You might be interested in this advertisement I found. It ran in a business publication here in Kankakee. Oh handed her a photocopy from a newsprint page.
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  NOBODY LIVES FOREVER

  ARE YOU ADEQUATELY PREPARED FOR THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN TO YOUR FAMILY? PERHAPS YOU AS THE BREADWINNER HAVE PROVIDED FOR YOUR WIFE AND FAMILY IF YOU ARE TAKEN BEFORE YOUR TIME, BUT HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN IF SOMETHING WORSE THAN DEATH HAPPENED TO YOU? IF YOU LOST YOUR WIFE? YOUR CHILD? NO ONE WANTS TO THINK ABOUT THE WORST, BUT WE CAN HELP YOU PLAN AHEAD FOR THE DARK TIMES.

  CONTACT HERMAN MULLET, SECURITY ADVISER, ARCADE BUILDING, KANKAKEE, ILLINOIS.

  “Yikes,” said Jane, “talk about your fear-mongering advertising. It’s effective though. No one would get away with a whole paragraph these days. They’d just use the tagline, nobody lives forever. That’s the key—massage your worst nightmare and make the sale. What ghouls!”

  “Hey, Bruce, what size shoes you wear?” called Nellie. “Boxcar’s wheezing like a freight train. We’re going to need a sub.”

  It had almost come around to Sal’s turn again, so bowlers on other teams were wiping their hands and replacing their balls in the return to watch and wait. Lucky had been half watching, half listening, but Jane had seen that he had taken a few phone calls and was looking distracted and trancelike. Something must have triggered a memory. Or if one of those previous calls had been Suli calling him from the hospital to see why she couldn’t get an answer about insurance coverage, perhaps Lucky was pretending to go into a trance. If Brenda were here, Jane was sure this would be exactly the time Lucky would choose to fake one of his allergic reactions.

  An old woman had powered her wheelchair out of the dim barroom and wheeled up to Sam’s table. She eyed the chicken salad sandwiches and Sam tuned on her as if she was a thieving crow. No one turned on a defenseless old woman like that unless she was a family member. Jane took Oh’s arm and directed him over to the food table where she planned on introducing herself to the woman who she was certain must be Aunt Ruthie.