“Can you imagine?” He shook his head like even he, the murderer, couldn’t believe it. “Lucky for me, I was out of town for the entire window of time. Damn lucky. That was a pretty big window, between when Mr. Michaels was last seen until when he would have been killed, in order to be frozen straight through when he was found.”
“So, you have an alibi. A rock-solid alibi?” I kept a watchful eye on his long strangling fingers.
“An alibi for everything except the break-in.” He made a sour face. “Which is fair enough, since I did commit the break-in.”
“Were the cufflinks worth a lot?”
“The cufflinks? No, of course not.” He sighed, and his cheeks became more gaunt, as if he was deflating.
The man was a fool to break into someone’s house for cufflinks, but I still felt sorry for him. They must have had great sentimental value.
I remembered the envelopes in my hand and casually moved them to behind my back. One of the checks might be for his beloved cufflinks, but I wasn’t going to be the one to break the news. Nor did I want to explain about how all four envelopes had “accidentally” fallen open on my porch.
“I’m an old fool,” he said.
“Hang in there,” I said cheerfully. “At least you’re not being charged with murder.”
He gave me a look to let me know that wasn’t the right thing to say.
I quickly added, “Maybe there’s a paper trail, and your stuff can be chased down after all. Never lose hope in your quest for the truth, because even a little hope can light the way.”
His expression softened. “That’s something I’ve heard your father say.”
I gave him a warm smile. “I may have heard it a few times myself, over the years.”
A taxi pulled up on the other side of the glass doors and honked.
“That’ll be my ride,” Mr. Jenkins said, then he excused himself and left.
I looked over at the white-haired woman knitting a sweater at reception.
She didn’t even pause her clicking needles as she looked up at me and said, “Can I help you with something, miss?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
There were some police officers in the station, but I didn’t see Tony, or the new woman, Peggy.
I looked down at the envelopes in my hand. Did I really want to confess to some random officer about opening these? Not yet. Not today, anyway.
I had another idea. My father had tried to return my call last night, but I’d missed it due to the noise at the pub.
This morning, being in his house and then at his old workplace without him had made me miss him fiercely.
It was still early in the day, and if I started driving now, I could be in the city for a visit with him at the hospital, and still return home at a reasonable time.
The knitting receptionist said, “Are you sure you’re okay? I have some cards here for a grief counsellor, if you’re feeling shaken up. Or you can always talk to me.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think a long drive is all I need.”
She clicked away with her needles. “Long drives are nice.”
I walked back out of the police station and went straight to my car.
My mind was buzzing with a million thoughts and worries—so many, it was difficult to concentrate on one at a time.
Once I started driving, though, my thoughts unravelled. Soon they would be ironed smooth.
If the costume shop owner had an alibi for the timeframe of Mr. Michaels’ murder, that meant the murderer was still at large.
Could it have been the pretty young blonde I met the night before? Was that why she’d been watching the door all night and refusing even a single drink? She didn’t seem strong enough to strangle a man, but there was that rumor he had been reunited with a long-lost daughter. Still, even if she was his daughter, why kill him? Any recent changes to his will would only lock her in as the prime suspect.
There had to be someone else who benefited from his death, or despised him enough to kill him.
As I drove past the sign reading Thank You for Visiting Misty Falls, I considered turning around and going straight to Officer Tony Milano with my wild theories. But Tony might have laughed at my suggestions.
I knew one person who wouldn’t laugh or call me paranoid. My father. He always took my insights seriously, even when I was young. He would listen to my ideas, no matter how wild and strange they seemed.
When I got older, I asked him why he’d played along. Wouldn’t it have been better to rein me in a bit? Wasn’t he overcompensating for being a single parent by indulging me?
He swore to me then, and he has ever since, that there was no such thing as a hypothesis that wasn’t worth considering. Even my wildest tales, stories about elves and werewolves that I didn’t expect him to take seriously, sometimes jogged his memory. A fresh perspective helped him see new patterns.
Well, he was going to see some new patterns today when I visited him. This one idea was a real doozy, and would definitely put a smile on his face.
What if all the local businesses had pooled their resources and hired a pretty hit girl from out of town to deal with their worst shoplifter?
Chapter 19
I’d forgotten how busy city traffic was. Cars zoomed by, changing lanes without signaling, the drivers distracted by their phones. I was overwhelmed, but my car’s on-board computer seemed delighted to actually have a job to do. The pleasant female voice told me when to turn left or right to reach the hospital.
Even with her assistance, I nearly missed the turn-off. My breathing got shallow and my body tensed as I changed lanes frantically. Was this really what the city was like every day?
Compared to where I’d been living for the past month, everything was so fast-paced, and there were so many sounds. It was nothing like the quiet of Misty Falls, where traffic jams lasted all of a minute and nobody dared honk impatiently, since they likely were acquainted with the person in the car in front of them.
When I got to the hospital, I did something I hadn’t done in weeks—I paid for parking. And it wasn’t cheap! Sure, it was tricky to find great espresso in Misty Falls, but you never paid a cent for parking.
I stepped out of the car and stretched my arms and legs, which were stiff from the long drive, then walked into the hospital.
I found my father’s floor without incident, but when I got to his room, he was sleeping.
I took a seat by his side, expecting him to open his eyes at any moment.
He’d probably sensed I was there the minute I walked into the building. Finnegan Day didn’t just spend his working career as a cop. He was born a cop. According to my grandmother, nothing got past him, and you sure couldn’t sneak into his room without waking him up.
He’d wake up and see me any minute.
Five minutes passed, then ten minutes, and he still didn’t wake up. I checked to see that he was breathing, just in case.
A brunette nurse came in, saw me, and said sweetly, “Aren’t you a little angel? You’re just as pretty as he said. Which one are you, the sunshine or the rain?”
I got up and shook her hand. “My reputation has preceded me. You could say I’m the rain. I’m Stormy.”
The nurse was forty-something and had that nice energy you like to see in a caretaker: a good smile, and bright eyes darting around to make sure everything’s under control.
“Your father is quite the man,” she said. Her eyes lit up like she was talking about meeting her favorite actor. “He says I should move to Misty Falls now that my son’s out of the house and off to college.”
“He suggested that?” I glanced over at my father, who was still sleeping peacefully. That rascal. My father loved the town of Misty Falls, but he didn’t typically go around trying to recruit people into moving there. His interest in this nurse had to be personal. And here I thought those days were behind him.
The woman said, “I have to admit I’m curious. He’s been telling me about the town e
ver since we met in the summer, for his physical therapy.” She darted over to the side of the bed and tucked the blankets along his sides as she looked him over.
I checked her name tag, and everything clicked into place. We’d spoken on the phone when I called to check on him, and she’d been so friendly.
She’d said her name, but I hadn’t been paying attention, thinking it was just hospital policy.
This was Dora Jones, the petite brunette who was my father’s physical therapist. I actually had heard about her, especially about how young she was. Funnily enough, from the way Pam had gone on about her, I’d imagined her as being much younger, maybe even in her twenties.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Whenever Dora came up in conversation, Pam would comment on how young she was and get huffy.
She was probably exaggerating the age difference to make my father feel ridiculous for having a crush on the woman. I even teased him about it myself, when I imagined she was in her twenties. But this woman wasn’t that much younger than him.
No wonder Pam felt threatened.
No wonder she’d burned the heck out of the french toast.
She knew he was here at the hospital, being cared for by Dora.
She finished tucking him in and said to me, “It’s such a shame he took that tumble, because he wouldn’t have needed the surgery, otherwise.”
“What tumble? My father fell down? He didn’t tell me that.”
Dora gave me a knowing look. There was a sisterly warmth in her amber brown eyes.
“She pushed him,” Dora said. “Your father claims he slipped when he was stepping into the bath tub, but the injury to his hip wasn’t consistent with what he told us. And neither was her story, if you ask me.”
“Pam and my father had a fight? A physical one? When did he tell you this?”
“Honestly, I don’t think she meant to push him down the stairs. Maybe she was just swatting him for being a naughty boy.” She grinned at his sleeping profile, bringing out cute dimples in her rosy cheeks. “He was probably saying something sassy, like he always does, and she gave him a shove, and down the steps he went.”
“Dad!” I exclaimed. “Stop pretending to be asleep. You open your eyes right now and tell me what’s going on.”
Dora chuckled. “He’ll be out for at least another hour, dear. He conned the other nurse into giving him two pills instead of the usual one. You should have called! I know he wouldn’t have knocked himself out if he knew his little rainy girl was coming for a visit.”
I didn’t want to believe her about the sleeping pills, so I grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. “Finnegan Day, wake up.”
His nostrils flared, and the rhythm of his deep breathing broke for an instant, but he didn’t wake up from his slumber.
“Let your father sleep it off,” Dora said. “Would you like to borrow a book from the floor’s library? I could get you a real coffee from the nurse’s station. Don’t use the vending machine in the hall if you know what’s good for you.”
I stepped back and crossed my arms while I ran through my options. Dora stayed, hovering in the room. My father still showed no signs of waking up from his nap. In fact, he seemed to be smiling in his sleep, enjoying whatever dream he was in.
I reached into my purse to check the time on my phone. My fingers grazed the envelopes. I yanked one out and checked the address. R&F Brokers was not far from the hospital.
“What do you say to that coffee?” Dora asked.
“Thanks for the kind offer,” I said. “I’ve got some errands I can run while I’m here in the city, so I’ll go do those, then come back. If he wakes up, tell him I need to speak with him today, and he’d better not go anywhere.”
She patted his leg through the blanket in a very familiar manner. Dora wore three rings on her fingers, but her wedding ring finger was bare. Dora was a single mother with a full-grown son, and I knew she was just my father’s type, because his type was any woman who found him charming.
“Don’t you worry,” Dora said to me. “I won’t let him get away.”
I left the room, muttering under my breath, “I’m sure you won’t, Dora Jones.”
I took the elevator down, stewing the whole way. My father was old enough to know better than to be flirting with his pretty physical therapist. If Pam really had pushed him down the stairs, he must have…
Well, actually, nobody deserves to be pushed down stairs.
Why was I even worrying about my father’s relationship with Pam, anyway? She and I tolerated each other, but I wasn’t overly fond of her, or the way she was with my father. They’d been dating for a month when she decided it was a terrible waste of money for her to be renting an apartment she was rarely at. She got herself moved into his house lickety-split. I didn’t say anything at the time, because I had my own stuff going on, but maybe it had been a mistake.
When it comes to love, we all make mistakes, after all. I spent seven years of my life engaged to a man who shrieked like a little girl when he encountered a spider.
I got into my car and punched the address for R&F Brokers into my navigation system.
At least this errand would make me feel like I was accomplishing something. If I could track down Mr. Jenkins’ stolen cufflinks, that would be a good deed, and life always has a way of getting better when you do a good deed for someone.
Chapter 20
R&F Brokers was, as I suspected, a pawn shop. A colorful assortment of characters was leaving when I arrived. Despite the chilly winter weather, the young men wore no jackets. All the better to show off their arm tattoos and thick gold chains, I guessed.
The young men gave my car an appreciative look, and then, to my surprise gave me an appreciative look as well. I was wearing my new lace-up boots, wool jacket, brown cords, and emerald green blouse. One of the bigger guys gave me a chin-lift gesture as he walked by, letting me know he liked what he saw. I smiled to myself, happy that my new “smart casual” clothes had been a good investment.
I walked inside the pawn shop and immediately started sneezing from the dust.
A young woman of about twenty, with a shaved head and multiple piercings, sat behind the main counter on a stool, oblivious to me as she thumbed her phone screen.
I sneezed again, and she didn’t even glance my way, let alone greet me.
I couldn’t help but say, “Your customers wouldn’t sneeze so much if someone ran a damp cloth over these display cases.”
She looked up at me like I was a fussy old woman who stuck her nose in everyone’s business. I realized, with horror, that I was exactly that sort of person.
I was no different from Pam, who’d said the same thing to my employee just a few days earlier. I made a mental note to be more appreciative of Pam, as well as another mental note to not let myself fully turn into her.
The employee gave me a dull stare and said, “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I’m looking for some cufflinks. They’re probably vintage.”
“What are cufflinks?” She stared at me steadily, her expression unchanging.
Instead of explaining it to her, I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelopes and the checks. “These are from here, right?”
She shrugged. “Looks like it. What’s wrong, lady? Did your kid pawn your stuff for drug money?”
My eyes bulged. I wanted to tell her I was only thirty-three, and certainly not old enough to have a teenaged son. Furthermore, even if I did have a teenaged son, he wouldn’t be the sort of delinquent who pawned my things for drug money. My son would obey the law.
Or would he? Here I was, committing mail fraud with my murdered neighbor’s checks in my hand, so maybe the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree after all.
“Sorry about your kid,” she said. “That’s a real bummer when they steal from you, but I can’t cash those checks.”
The dust was making my eyes water. I sniffed and rubbed my eye.
“Don’t cry,” she s
aid. “I can maybe look up the lot number from the check, if you want.”
I wasn’t crying, but she didn’t have to know that. I sniffed and said, “Thank you so much.”
“I’ll have to look it up on the computer, but yeah, whatever.” She took the checks and walked over to a computer terminal that looked older than her, and started tapping away.
Her movements stirred up more dust, making me sneeze. With each sneeze, she gave me a suspicious look, like I was doing it on purpose to make her feel bad about not dusting.
The display shelves were really coated in grime, too. I could see a bottle of glass cleaner and paper towels sitting behind the counter, and it took some effort to just stand around doing nothing instead of grabbing the supplies and helping tidy up the pawn shop.
Finally, ten minutes and just as many sneezes later, she brought me a tray with four small items: a pair of cufflinks, a jeweled money clip, a man’s gold wedding ring, and a gaudy broach of a panther.
“I just want the cufflinks,” I said.
She held onto one check and handed the other three back to me. “I might be able to do a straight exchange for the check, since it’s been less than two weeks.”
I grabbed the check from her hands. “Actually, I’ll pay with my credit card. I need the checks for evidence.”
She cracked a smile. “Your kid is in some serious, deep trouble.” She stirred up some more dust on the way to the computer again and rang up the purchase.
While she was busy, I quickly got out my phone and took some pictures of the other three items, to pass along to the Misty Falls police department. According to the dollar amount of the checks, and the lax security of the store’s employee, it seemed that none of these objects was valuable enough to murder someone over. I wasn’t sure if they could even be clues.
The panther seemed like it could be useful. It looked similar in design to the necklace charm I’d seen Ruby wearing, which meant it could have come from her store. Maybe it had disappeared during the time her security cameras weren’t working.
Death of a Dapper Snowman Page 11
