by Julie Hyzy
We both shook our heads. Bootsie squirmed.
“Syringes. A box of them.” Flynn gave a self-satisfied lip smack. “You know, like for injections? Yep, I think this case is about to be closed.” With a superior look on his face, he added, “No thanks to you.”
“A box of syringes. On his kitchen table,” I repeated. “Why would he still hold on to all that if the deed was done?”
“Maybe he had plans for a second victim. We’ll find out.” Flynn shook his head. “Stupid move on his part to keep the stuff in his house. Without it, we probably wouldn’t have had enough to convict. Now we do.”
“That’s great,” I said, without feeling.
Eyes narrowed, Hillary watched me closely. “You don’t think Pedota is guilty, do you?”
I told the truth. “I don’t know what to think.” To Flynn, I said, “Maybe if I knew where your tip came from?”
“Leave the police work to the professionals this time, okay?” He smirked again. “I could just see you and that old-lady assistant of yours if you were searching the guy’s house.” Raising his voice falsetto, he held his hands up, fingers pointed down as though miming being afraid to touch something. “Oh, should we look in here? Do you think we’ll mess his poor house up?” Bringing his voice back to normal, he added, “You would have been too polite to find the syringes. Your assistant, on the other hand—”
“What do you mean polite? You said they were on his kitchen table.”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “But they were in a box that was taped shut. And marked PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL. You probably would have been too afraid to open it.”
A zing shot through my brain. “David Cherk,” I said.
Flynn started to walk away. I grabbed his arm, something Bootsie didn’t like one bit. She tried to wriggle free. I held fast.
Flynn yanked away as though I’d stabbed him. “What?”
“That’s David Cherk’s box.”
“You’re nuts.”
“No, listen to me,” I said. “He had a jar, very similar to the one Ronny Tooney got us from the moonshine people.”
“So?”
“And there was a box that belonged to him, marked PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL, too.”
“Do you have any idea how many things the post office handles that have those words marked on them?”
I did, but I pressed on. “What if you’re wrong? What if Pedota is innocent and David Cherk is guilty?” I asked.
Flynn grinned. “He’s not.” He tapped the side of his head with two fingers. “I’ve got a sense about these things.”
He walked away, sauntering as usual.
“You believe he’s wrong about all this, don’t you?” Hillary asked when he was out of earshot.
“What do I know?” I said. “He might be way ahead of me this time.”
She tipped her head and wrinkled her nose again. It was her trademark move to express annoyance, but it also served to broadcast when she didn’t agree. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”
* * *
The next morning, after catching the news about Pedota’s arrest and hearing hints about the evidence that had been found at the scene, I thought about Hillary’s comment. In her own way, she’d expressed support, and I figured I owed it to myself to continue investigating.
I’d alerted Frances to my plan and so she sat in my office as I dialed Tooney.
“Another well-being check?” he asked when I said hello. “If you keep calling me every day, Grace, people will begin to talk.”
Frances leaned forward, having heard every word he’d said. “You should be so lucky,” she shouted.
“That last call was simply to make sure you were fully recovered,” I said. “Today it’s all business.”
His lighthearted tone disappeared immediately. “What’s up?”
“Three things,” I said, ignoring Frances’s quizzical glance and the fact that she held only two fingers up. “And if you wouldn’t mind keeping this on the down-low, I’d be very appreciative.”
“You know I will,” he said.
“I do know that. You are always very discreet. Okay, here’s what I need: You saw that Todd Pedota was arrested last night.”
“How could I miss it? It’s been all over the news.”
“I’d like to know the source of the tip that Flynn received that allowed him to get a warrant to search Pedota’s premises.”
Tooney grunted acknowledgment and I could hear the scratchy sounds of him writing notes. “What else?”
“I’d like you to find me a copy of a local newspaper from five years ago.” I gave him the date of the stolen copy. “Would you be able to find a replacement for me?” I asked. “Let me forewarn you that the library has its collection out for computerizing and the historical office lent me their only copy. I’d like to replace it, which means that I need the actual physical paper, not a digitized version.”
“What happened to the one you borrowed?” he asked.
I told him.
“No idea who stole it?”
“There’s a pool of suspects, including Todd Pedota. Maybe I’ve got blinders on but I don’t see the motive there.”
“You got it, Grace. I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will.”
“That’s two things. You mentioned three.”
I took a breath. Frances was going to love this. “It’s about your rates, Tooney.”
He made a sound of disappointment. “I knew I shouldn’t have tacked on the bill for repairing my ripped suit after those guys roughed me up in New York last time. I figured it fell under expenses.”
I thought about all he’d had to endure during that experience a few months ago, and how his help had been invaluable in making connections we hadn’t known existed.
“You asked me about that, remember?” I said. “Before you added it to the bill. By all means, you should have charged us for that.”
“Then, what?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?”
“Tooney, you’ve been an enormous help to us. Much more than I could have ever anticipated. I’d like to put you on retainer.” I named the monthly fee I’d decided to offer him.
He drew in breath. “That’s a lot of money.”
“You’re worth every penny.” When he started to speak again, I interrupted. “I really hope we don’t need your assistance in the future. But if we do, it’ll be nice to know you’re there for us.”
I could practically hear his happiness brimming over the phone. “Always,” he said. “I’ll always be there for you. And Mr. Marshfield, too.”
When I hung up, Frances stood. She glared at me. “You happy?”
I knew she wasn’t asking sincerely, but decided to play along. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“That’s what he’s wanted from the very beginning. Don’t you remember when you first started working here and Tooney snuck in, pretending to be the police when Abe was killed?”
“Of course I remember.”
“This very minute you handed him what he’s always wanted, and you delivered it on a silver platter. What were you thinking?”
“Frances, he’s helped us. A lot. That effort deserves to be recognized.”
“You put him on retainer.”
I scratched the side of my head for effect. “That pretty much sums it up.”
“You feel sorry for him because he lives in a shabby house. For all you know, he has a million dollars squirrelled away in a bank account somewhere and he’s laughing at you behind your back.”
Not for the first time, I wondered what had happened in Frances’s life to create such a vortex of negativity in one person.
She barreled on. “There are a thousand private investigators in the world more experienced and more savvy than Tooney is. And they probably don’t charge as much as you�
�re paying that loser.”
I remained seated and gave her a smile. I knew that my composure was driving her nuts and that made me even calmer. “I’m sure you’re right about that, Frances, but there’s not one other PI in the world who cares about Marshfield, and all of us, the way Tooney does.”
“You’re a bleeding heart,” she said and stormed out.
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
She shouted from the other office, “You’re darned right, and I’d appreciate if you’d take it that way.”
* * *
Bruce, Scott, and I sat in our living room that evening, watching the rain sluice against our new windows. With a bottle of wine, and soft music playing, I was in a perfect place to relax. I tried.
“Have you noticed that the house isn’t so drafty anymore?” Scott asked. He glanced over to the bare panes. It would be a while before we had draperies and curtains in place again. And if Hillary had anything to do with it, none of our original furnishings would return. “Things are really shaping up.”
“We’re very lucky,” Bruce said. “Are you happy you agreed to this upgrade?” he asked me.
“I am,” I said. “Believe it or not.”
My roommates had brought home a new vintage today, a Meritage they’d decided to sample before offering it in the shop, and we sat in what were becoming our regular spots—me in the wing chair, Scott sprawled on the sofa, and Bruce cross-legged on the floor, playing with Bootsie and one of her favorite toys.
I took another sip. “It’s good.”
“You’ve said that four times,” Bruce said. He lifted the plastic wand high in the air, causing Bootsie to jump for the stuffed mouse dangling from the end of it. “Are you fibbing, or is your mind elsewhere?”
I leaned sideways to rest my glass on the table next to me. “Busted,” I said. “I can’t seem to quiet my thoughts.”
“Care to share what’s bothering you?” Scott asked.
I dropped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. The peeling paint there only served to remind me that phase two of Hillary’s renovation would be starting up soon, keeping the house in turmoil that much longer.
“It might be easier to tell you what isn’t bothering me.”
One of them said, “Go ahead.”
Righting myself, I held up fingers as I listed things one by one. “The house is really looking great.”
“I concur,” Bruce said. Scott nodded.
I held up a second finger. “Hillary hasn’t been half as difficult to work with as I’d expected.”
“I think that deserves two points,” Scott said. “I really expected that having her around would be a nightmare. It’s been an adjustment, for sure, but not nearly as much as we thought.”
“The final thing I’m not bothered by”—I waited until they both made eye contact—“is cutting ties with Jack.”
Both sets of brows jumped at that.
“Really, really?” Bruce asked. “Or are you saying that to convince yourself?”
“Really, really.”
As though she understood, Bootsie took that moment to forsake the fake mouse. She bounded onto my lap and propped two paws on my collarbone and stared at me as though attempting to divine my true thoughts on the matter. “I’m not kidding,” I said to her. Addressing all of them, I continued, “I don’t understand it fully, but I think I saw Jack as unattainable. And that was his allure.”
“Now that he’s pursuing you, that makes him less interesting?” Scott asked. “I’m not buying it, Grace. That makes you sound shallow, and you’re not.”
I caught myself wrinkling my nose à la Hillary and forced myself to relax. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think what happened was that I wasn’t fully healed from the breakup with Eric when Jack came into the picture. The fact that Jack was emotionally unavailable made things easy for both of us. We were able to play the attraction game. Made us both feel good while it lasted. Most of the time, at least.”
“And now?”
“Now I realize that there isn’t the substance that I expected to see, that I believed I did see.”
My roommates went silent. “You remember we vowed not to give you any more advice, right?” Bruce asked.
Bootsie circled my lap, pawing at the tops of my legs before settling down into a warm cat curl.
“I remember.”
The two men exchanged a glance.
“What about Adam?” Scott asked. “Simply asking a question,” he added quickly, even though I hadn’t pushed back. “We’re wondering how much time you need before making a decision where he’s concerned.”
“I don’t know,” I said, stroking Bootsie’s fur. “All I can tell you is that it’s good to be me, by myself, for a while. I think he knew that, and I believe that’s why he’s giving me room to breathe.”
“Smart man,” Bruce said.
The doorbell rang, preventing us from discussing my love life any further. Because I had Bootsie on my lap, Scott answered the door. Bruce and I heard him talking with a man, and a moment later, the two walked in.
Ronny Tooney stood in the doorway in a trench coat, soaking wet. He held a dripping fedora at his waist and wore a shy expression. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
I got to my feet. Not a problem, because at Tooney’s entrance, Bootsie had leaped down. Now she circled his pant legs.
“Is everything all right?” I asked. “Come on in.”
Tooney shook his big head. “I don’t want to bother you all. I came to give you this.” From inside his trench coat, he pulled an opaque plastic bag. “Here’s that copy of the newspaper you wanted.”
“Tooney,” I said with amazement. “How did you ever get your hands on this so fast?”
His cheeks went pink. “I know a gal who works at the paper. They keep a few copies of each edition. They don’t like to sell them unless it’s for a good reason. I told her it was important so she pulled a few strings for me.”
“Thank you so much. Did you page through it at all?”
He gave an eager nod. “Didn’t find much. ’Course, I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”
I clasped the newspaper to my chest. “You are the best, Tooney.”
Bruce had gotten to his feet. “Would you like to join us?” he asked. “I’ll pull out another wineglass.”
Tooney seemed embarrassed by the invitation. “No, I’d best be getting home. I may have an answer for you about Flynn’s tip soon.”
“That would be great,” I said.
He gave a little nod, said good night, and headed back out into the rain.
Delighted by the replacement paper Tooney had delivered, I scooped Bootsie up from the floor and hugged her close, the newspaper tucked tight under my arm. “You know who that was, don’t you, sweetie? That’s the man who helped me when we rescued you.”
Bruce shut the front door and returned to the parlor. “You ask me, Grace, I think you rescued him.”
Chapter 31
“This is the missing newspaper, then?” Frances asked the next morning. She toddled around to my side of my desk and perched her glasses on her nose to read over my shoulder. “Finding any clues?”
“Not yet,” I answered, paging through more slowly this time. “I’m beginning to wonder if the first copy wasn’t stolen. Maybe it was simply misplaced and this is a wild-goose chase.”
“Gotta chase geese once in a while if you want to keep your legs strong.”
I gave her a skeptical look.
“Old sayings have to start somewhere,” she said. “And I think that one’s pretty catchy. Just wait. Pretty soon you’ll be hearing it around town, and you’ll be able to tell folks where it originated.” She pointed to her bosom. “Right here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Having read all of pages one and two, I conce
ntrated on page three, again.
Still hanging over my shoulder, Frances asked, “How many issues have you gone through?”
“Five in total. I read through the others, but because this was the edition that went missing, I thought I’d give it extra attention.”
“And what have you found out?”
“Not much. To be honest, the words are beginning to blur.”
I’d already been through this entire newspaper three times this morning. I was currently on my fourth go. This was our local publication, which focused on scintillating stories about town hall meetings that established dates for festivals and awarded property variances. There was a front-page blast that covered an ongoing trouble with borer-infected trees. I could recount the score from the Little League team’s win, and knew the details of the high school’s career fair that year.
Because Emberstowne catered to tourists, there was the requisite piece on Marshfield history, which I skipped. There were also several articles that suggested other sights to see in the area. These, accompanied by photographs, didn’t hold much interest, either. I assumed most were stock photos of the nearby national park and the nightlife along Main Street.
I studied the police blotter, but nothing of note jumped out at me: a couple of reports of disorderly conduct and a shoplifting mention or two. No familiar names. We even had a society page where three couples had announced their engagement. All good, but nothing that helped me.
“And I wondered why they thought my secret passage was a big deal. Compared to the news from this date, that’s headline material,” I said.
“Not much happens around here,” she agreed. “Which is why Dr. Keay’s scandal kept the newspapers flying for days. They really milked that story for every cent it was worth.”
Turning my attention back to the newspaper, I tuned her out. The advice columns and restaurant reviews were probably not worth my time, and I glossed over the pictures. There were three of the town hall meeting and one of the Little League team. In the touristy section there was a shot of a happy group posed outside of Marshfield’s front gates, under the mini-headline “Mansion Welcomes German Visitors.” There was a night shot of a couple posed beneath the Promise Clock with the headline: “All the Time in the World.” And another Emberstowne moment captured forever: “Preparing for Fall Festival,” which featured a group of shopkeepers displaying autumn-themed wares. I had to imagine the season’s oranges, golds, and purples, because the paper had been printed in only black-and-white.
