Chapter Eight
“Anything interesting?” Uncle Bob nodded his head toward the mail in my hand.
“Just bills,” I answered. “And a postcard from Mom and Dad.”
He insisted we stop by my house on the way to work. “You’d be surprised how many people will take advantage of an unoccupied house and try to break in,” he said.
“I’ve only been away for one night,” I reminded him. I still didn’t like the idea of him driving me to work instead of taking the van. My plan had been to keep to my same routine as much as possible in order not to draw any unwanted attention to myself. But Uncle Bob had insisted. With any luck, I’d be back in my own bed very soon.
I twisted the key in the lock and opened the front door to the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Uncle Bob pushed past me and motioned me to remain where I was. Like a bad actor in a police drama, his gun drawn, and his back flat against the wall, he peeked around the corner. He continued his survey, darting through the kitchen, bedrooms and even the garage, while I remained on the front porch.
Again I began to wonder how the man made a living. Watching him perform his private eye duties would have been comical for anyone else, but it was all I could do to hold back the tears. This was the man I’d looked up to for so many years, the one person I most wanted to emulate. Until I learned the sad truth.
Suddenly I couldn’t blame my parents for wanting to spare me the disappointment I now felt. My hero had become nothing more than a wanna-be Sherlock Holmes.
Once he had decided the house was secure, he waved me inside. “Doesn’t look like anyone has been here,” he said holstering his weapon in his belt.
I was almost afraid he’d shoot himself. Images of Barney Fife shoving his gun into his holster and shooting the floor flashed through my mind.
I tried my best to look appreciative. I entered the house, secretly wondering how much help he would have been if there really had been someone inside. I swallowed hard and reminded myself that I also had a weapon if the need should arise.
I placed the mail on the kitchen table, then walked into the hallway, and turned off the air conditioner. There was no use wasting energy when no one would be home to enjoy it. I made a mental note to turn it back on before my parents returned.
With five minutes to spare, Uncle Bob dropped me off at the front door of the diner. “Now, don’t forget I’m picking you up here at noon,” he said. “If I’m late, just wait for me.”
I exited the small car, shut the door and poked my head in the window. “I’ll be here,” I promised.
Heather was sitting behind the cashier’s booth when I entered. She had the cash drawer out, sorting out the bills. “Nice car,” she said, indicating Uncle Bob’s beat-up Volkswagen merging into traffic. “Was that Justin?”
“No, just a ride to work,” I answered. I’d started to tell her it was my uncle’s car, but decided I didn’t want to leave an opening for more questions. The fewer people who knew about him, the better right now.
The smell of bacon filled the small diner, reminding me I hadn’t bothered to eat anything before I left this morning. A quick look through Uncle Bob’s refrigerator had revealed a carton of soured milk, moldy bacon, and a few boiled eggs that could have passed for golf balls. I made a mental note to go by the grocery store later this afternoon and stock up on a few essentials.
Promising myself to grab a muffin and a cup of tea before the morning rush, I passed through the kitchen, and into the employee’s lounge. I stuffed my purse into one of the lockers, then took one final look in the full-length mirror on the wall. I’d just started back through the kitchen, when I heard voices from Winslow’s private office. Behind the closed door, the voices grew louder. And angrier. One voice I easily recognized as Mr. Winslow’s. By the sharp tone, it was obvious he was chewing someone out. While it was not unusual for Mr. Winslow to lecture his employees behind closed doors, the employee didn’t usually yell back. And this was definitely a two-sided argument.
Wanting to avoid being caught eavesdropping on a private conversation, I skirted through the kitchen and helped myself to a blueberry muffin. In the dining room, I filled a cup with hot water from the coffee machine and inserted a teabag. I’d just taken my first sip when I suddenly remembered the wallet.
Heather had completed her cashier duties and was busy filing her fingernails when I put my hand on the counter, demanding her attention. “Did Michael Black ever come in for his wallet?” I asked.
She looked up, pulling her eyebrows together. “Who?”
“Michael Black,” I repeated. “The owner of that wallet I tried to return the other day. Remember? I left it here with you in case he came back in for it.”
She tilted her head and looked to the ceiling while she appeared to think about it. “Oh, him.” She pulled open the drawers behind the counter and looked inside. “Well, it isn’t here.” Then she nodded as if suddenly remembering something. “Mr. Winslow probably gave it back to him this morning.”
Darn, I thought. There went any hope of searching through it for information. But at least now I knew he was back in town. Assuming, of course, he was ever gone.
I finished my muffin just as the first customer entered. Downing the rest of my tea, I reached for a menu and met him at a table. I’d just placed the customer’s request with the kitchen staff when Mr. Winslow entered the dining room. His round face was pinched into a worrisome frown.
“Good morning,” I said, trying to maintain some sense of normalcy in what was quickly becoming anything but normal.
Winslow nodded and glanced outside. “Did you walk to work again?”
Heather answered for me. “Her uncle dropped her off. I guess he must be on a big case,” she added with a crooked smile.
So she had known who had dropped me off this morning, I realized. I wondered why she hadn’t acknowledged it earlier. Whatever the reason, I certainly didn’t appreciate her condescending remark. Was it possible the whole town knew how unsuccessful my uncle was? How could I have been so blind?
A family of three entered, giving me an excuse to leave the conversation. I picked up a menu and greeted them at their table.
While the remainder of my shift wasn’t very busy, a slow trickle of customers filtered in throughout the morning, helping to keep my mind on business instead of Angelica Belmont.
Lisa entered the dining room at five minutes before noon, just as Justin’s Malibu pulled into the lot. I briefed her on the few remaining customers’ orders, then retrieved my belongings from the employee lounge.
The day had warmed at least another twenty degrees since this morning. The heat felt like a slap in the face as I stepped outside. Thankfully, Justin had parked his car under a tree that offered a partial covering of shade. “Do you have any more news?” I asked hopefully, as I yanked open the car door and climbed inside.
I glanced back at the diner, noticing Heather’s curious stare. I could only imagine what she’d think when she saw Uncle Bob drive up too.
“Nice to see you too,” Justin responded with a smile. He curled a leg beneath the other and faced me.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “It’s just that Uncle Bob will be here any minute to pick me up. We’ll have to talk fast.”
He looked disappointed. “As a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “I found out some more interesting facts from Alley. According to her, Angelica Belmont was engaged to marry Michael Black next week.”
My jaw dropped. “Was she sure?”
He nodded. “She saw Angelica’s picture on the news yesterday and recognized her as Michael Black’s fiancée.”
I slumped against the seat and scratched my head. “But that doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Why would he want to kill his fiancée?”
“You’re right,” Justin agreed. “It doesn’t make sense. But then nothing about this case makes any sense.”
My head was beginning to throb. I didn’t know if it was from the heat or the confusing events th
at had happened over the past few days. I closed my eyes, trying to ward off the impending headache, when I heard Uncle Bob’s Volkswagen sputter into the parking lot.
I opened my eyes. “At least he’s punctual.”
“What did you say?”
“Uh, nothing,” I answered quickly. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud. I didn’t want anyone to know that my uncle might not be the successful investigator I had led them to believe. Not even Justin. Although with Heather’s snide comment this morning, I had to wonder if it was such a well-kept secret after all. Maybe I was the only one who had been shielded from that information. Hopefully Uncle Bob was just having a streak of bad luck. But maybe, with our help, once we solved the Angelica Belmont mystery, his career along with his ego might get a huge boost.
Uncle Bob pulled into a parking space a few cars down from Justin’s car.
I reached for my door handle. “Let’s go meet him,” I said. “He won’t recognize me in your car.”
Uncle Bob was just getting out when we approached. “Uncle Bob,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Justin Banks.” Of course, Justin had already met my parents since we’d been together all through school, but I couldn’t recall him ever meeting my uncle.
Justin extended his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” he responded, completing the handshake. He glanced my way. “I didn’t realize the two of you were back together.”
Justin reached for my hand. “We’re working on it,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze.
I smiled at Justin, then directed my attention back to my uncle. “Uncle Bob, were you able to check with Angelica Belmont’s employer today?”
His eyebrows raised, his gaze bounced from Justin to me, as if for reassurance before answering. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“You did?” His answer surprised me, but I was glad he followed through. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Leaning against the car, he pulled out a small black-flip top notebook from his shirt pocket and began reading. “Angelica Belmont was recently engaged to marry a Michael Black. They planned to marry within the month and move to Florida. Angelica had already given her notice to her boss.”
Justin and I shared a questioning glance. “Did they have any idea who might have killed her?” I asked.
“Not specifically,” he answered. “But according to one of her co-workers, she was upset over a business deal her fiancé was involved in. And apparently the police have even questioned this Michael Black.”
He flipped the notebook closed, while Justin and I stood speechless. Everything seemed to point to Michael Black. Everything except for a motive, that is. What possible reason could he have for killing his fiancée?
Justin finally broke the silence. “Is Michael Black the only suspect the police have?”
Uncle Bob seemed surprised by the question. “Oh, he’s not a suspect,” he told us. “Seems he had an airtight alibi. He was out of town the day she was killed.”
Justin and I exchanged puzzled glances. If Michael Black wasn’t a suspect, then who killed her? And why?
“I assume the police have already verified his whereabouts,” I said.
Of course they would have, I realized. Besides, the police weren’t aware that she had been in Michael Black’s house. That important piece of information was known only to Justin and me.
And the killer.
Uncle Bob shrugged and narrowed his eyes. “Why would he kill his fiancée?”
That seemed to be the big question, I thought. We were obviously missing something important. But what?
Several unanswered questions nagged at my brain. My head continued to throb from the pressure. If Mr. Black was out of town, then whose red Toyota was parked by the back door that morning? And why was someone who drove the same make of car trying to run me down? Someone was obviously trying to cover their tracks. But who?
I massaged my temple again, fighting the urge to confide the whole truth to Uncle Bob. I wanted to tell him about the day I found Angelica’s body in Michael Black’s house. I wanted him to know about Michael Black’s first wife also dying from cyanide poisoning. Maybe he gained something from her death. Maybe he received a huge insurance settlement when she died. But what could he have gained from his fiancée’s death? And even, if by some chance, he did gain financially from Angelica’s death, wouldn’t two cyanide poisonings implicate him in his first wife’s death too?
Justin looked at me, his eyes questioning. He was ready to clear the air with Uncle Bob. That much was obvious. But I wasn’t quite ready. Justin still thought my uncle was a world class investigator, but I now knew better.
I didn’t hear a word Uncle Bob said during the drive back to his house. I was too busy counting every red Toyota we passed along the way. I saw at least three, all different shades of red.
At Uncle Bob’s request, Justin followed behind us. Uncle Bob suggested that we would all benefit by getting out of the heat, and going to his house for sandwiches and soda where we could all talk freely. Fifteen minutes later, he tossed his tattered briefcase onto the couch. His expression hard, he turned to Justin and me, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest.
“Okay, you two,” he said. “Either let me know what’s really going on or this little game is over.”
Apparently my uncle wasn’t quite as naïve as I’d imagined. Even though I had begun to question how much we really needed his help, I also knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t let me out of his sight if he thought I was in danger. But from what I had seen so far, Uncle Bob’s assistance could prove to be more of a hindrance than help.
Justin glanced my way, his eyebrows raised. “Well?” he said. “Are you ready to tell him the truth?”
I blew out a long breath of air, then slumped onto the couch. Justin sat down beside me and put his hand on mine. Together we poured out the whole complicated story. We told him how I discovered Angelica’s body when I tried to return the wallet Mr. Black had left behind. We explained about the missing red Toyota when we returned to the house later that afternoon. We also told him about the subsequent near miss with the Toyota that evening at the lake.
Uncle Bob paced the floor in shocked silence, scratching his balding head. His jaw muscles twitched while his hands clenched and unclenched at his side with each step. Moments later, he finally lowered himself to the couch beside me, apparently taking his time to consider his words before he finally spoke.
I’d never seen this side of my uncle. His usual calm resolve had suddenly morphed into one of anger. “Why didn’t you go to the police with this?” he said. His voice was now calm, his breathing calculated.
I hadn’t expected a lecture. I knew he’d be upset that I hadn’t confided in him, but I had my reasons. Somehow I needed to make him understand my complicated position in this situation.
I sprang to my feet, ready to defend my actions. “How could I? I had already phoned them once to tell them that someone needed help at that house. When they got there and didn’t find anything, they assumed someone had phoned in a prank.” I threw my arms in the air. “The whole neighborhood thought someone had placed a crank call. What was I supposed to do?”
I hadn’t meant to raise my voice, but suddenly the absurdity of it all reached my boiling point.
Justin came to stand beside me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We even considered the possibility that someone might have been playing a practical joke,” he said. “At least until Denise saw Angelica’s picture in the paper the next morning. That’s when we knew something was horribly wrong.”
I took several deep breaths, trying to return my pulse rate to normal. I was beginning to wonder if Justin was going to come to my defense in the matter, so I was thankful when he finally found the courage to speak up.
Uncle Bob sank against the cushion of the sofa and leaned his head back. With both hands, he finger-combed imagi
nary hair and heaved a heavy sigh. His eyes closed, he finally leaned forward with his head in his hands. When he finally looked up, his face was tired and drawn. “Then you should have come to me and told me the truth,” he said softly. “Not some stupid story about how you wanted to pretend to solve a random murder.”
I stood my ground. I didn’t blame him for being upset, but I knew I’d done the right thing by keeping things to myself. It was the only thing I could do under the circumstances. “We were afraid you would want to bring the police in on it,” I told him. “And that’s the last thing I want right now.”
He slapped the arm of the sofa. “That’s exactly what I would have done,” he said, his voice rising. “You could be in a lot of danger. The police need to know about this!”
I was pretty sure Uncle Bob was more hurt than mad. He probably felt as if his only niece didn’t trust him enough to confide in him. In a way, he was right. But he’d hurt me too. He hadn’t kept his promise to hire me as his associate. But as mad as I was about that at the time, I still couldn’t stand to see the hurt in his eyes now. I decided to tell him the whole story.
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” I suggested. “I’ll get out some lunch meat and bread.” I glanced his way quickly, then turned toward the kitchen. “Because there’s more you should know.”
In the refrigerator, I found some non-expired lunch meat, some mustard, and a loaf of bread, then set it on the table. Uncle Bob opened a two-liter of soda, while Justin filled three tall glasses with ice.
I sat next to Justin, across from Uncle Bob, watching his throat muscles twitch with anxiety.
“We did some checking around on our own,” I began, squirting mustard onto a piece of bread. “Justin found out that Michael Black’s wife also died from cyanide poisoning ten years ago.”
Uncle Bob stopped in mid bite. “That’s gotta be more than coincidental.”
“That’s what we thought,” Justin said. “That’s why we were so certain that Mr. Black was the murderer. Apparently, thirty years ago, people were being poisoned by over-the-counter medication laced with cyanide. And it’s been a popular method of murder since then. We figured it was easy for him to murder his first wife with the cyanide since five other people died from contaminated bottles of aspirin ten years ago.”
Anonymously Yours Page 10
