Stamped Out

by Thayer, Terri

“Yeah, a girl can’t remain a daddy’s girl forever,” Ed said wistfully. He thrust an arm around her. “I’m glad you’ve come back to me.”

  April’s eyes filled. He pulled her in for a hug and kissed her hair. No one else kissed her hair. The feeling was sublime.

  Ed’s smile turned down. “You say Frankie worked for me, huh? Yost is going to love that.”

  April wondered if Frankie had a belt buckle like this. “He had to have died the night of the party. The next day the Castle was boarded up. I saw it. He had to have been in the Castle before it was boarded up.”

  “I inspected the building that night before the party. No one was inside.”

  “But the party?” April asked.

  “Kids stayed outside. The doors and windows were all locked. I checked.”

  Her father was underestimating the determination of partying kids. Frankie had gotten in. And died inside.

  He was turning the buckle over his knuckles in the same way he used to make a quarter disappear when she was a kid. She was glad to see this had lightened his heart somewhat. Because her news about getting kicked out of Mirabella would crush him. She fought back tears.

  Ed wasn’t listening to her. He was lost in reminiscing. “I wonder if any of the other men still have theirs. Lyle probably has his, still. He doesn’t throw anything out.”

  He looked up and smiled at April. “It was the last Christmas we worked on the Castle. Your mother found some guy who worked in metal and had them made up. Had to be ridiculously expensive. I didn’t really have the money, but that job had been such a bear, I wanted to thank the men for working hard.”

  He gestured toward the Castle rubble and shook his head. “Man, I sweated over that job. The stone for the fireplace never arrived, and then when it did it was stolen off the loading dock at the train depot. We had to wait for another shipment. I never had a job like that before or since. Stuff went missing, shipments were lost in transit. And Winchester changed his mind every two minutes. What a mess.”

  The state troopers wrapped up their work for the day and headed for the white van. Yost made his way over to where she and Ed were standing.

  “Ms. Buchert,” he said, nodding to her.

  “I heard there is a tentative identification,” she began.

  Yost remained stony faced. “You did? Where?”

  “At the club,” April said. “The dentist’s wife.”

  An annoyed expression flitted across Yost’s face. “We’re waiting on official confirmation.”

  “That it’s Frankie Imperiale?” April asked.

  “I wish I could place him,” Ed said, his eyes unfocused, looking into the past.

  Yost moved in on her father, planting himself in front of Ed. “You don’t remember Frankie?” Officer Yost asked, widening his stance and holding his hands on his belt.

  “Not really,” Ed said. He didn’t notice Yost’s attitude had changed. “But then, good carpenters follow the work. Wilkes-Barre, Scranton, Harrisburg, Binghamton. They go where the jobs are.”

  Yost smirked. He obviously thought Ed was lying. “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten this guy,” Yost said. “Cocky son of a gun. He worked on the Castle job. I was looking at him as the ringleader of the druggies that summer. And he worked for you.”

  Ed shrugged. “If you say so.” He looked at Yost and attempted a joke. “They say the mind is the first thing to go.”

  April could see Yost getting angry. He thought Ed was making fun of him. She tried to step in.

  “Officer Yost?” April said. “I told you before, my father was with me that night. All night, and all the next day.”

  Her words didn’t seem to register. Yost was watching her father’s fingers. He snatched the buckle out of Ed’s grasp.

  “What do you have there?” he asked.

  Ed smiled and said, “How do you like that? April found this for me, in the woods.”

  “When did you find this?” His voice sounded official and he looked at her suspiciously.

  “About an hour ago,” she answered slowly.

  “Ever dawn on you that this might be part of the crime scene?” he asked sarcastically.

  April protested, “It was well away from the Castle.”

  Yost frowned.

  “What’s the crime anyway?” April asked. “For all we know, Frankie could have died of a drug overdose or exposure.”

  Yost smirked. “That wouldn’t explain the bullet fragment we found.”

  April’s skin went cold. Ed’s head was hanging low, one hand washing the other over and over. She grabbed his wrist to make him stop. He squeezed her hand but didn’t look up.

  Yost turned the buckle over. His eyes widened. He slipped his pen through the metal loops that fastened the buckle to the belt, and held it high, looking at all sides. His gaze lingered on the back of the buckle. April moved closer so she could see what he saw. There were scratches on the back.

  “Well, how do you like that?” Yost said. “This buckle is personalized.”

  He held it out for them to see. April crowded in. She could see a word etched into the back of the buckle. No, not a word. Initials.

  A messy job, but someone had scratched his initials into the metal.

  F.I. Frankie Imperiale.

  “Ed Buchert, you’re under arrest,” Yost said.

  “He couldn’t have killed anyone,” April said, her voice near panic. “He was with me.”

  Yost sneered. “So I should take the word of a woman who’s already told me she’d do anything to save her father? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re coming with me, Ed. Ms. Buchert, you might want to call Vince and tell him his partner is with me.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Go on home, sweetie,” Vince said, rubbing her shoulders as he stood behind her. “It’s late. Yost can hold him for hours.”

  “And he will,” April replied.

  Vince agreed. “There’s no point in both of us being here.”

  It was nearly six o’clock. Vince and April stood outside the police station on Main Street. She stretched, her back tight from tension.

  Vince wiped the sweat from his forehead. The small building had no windows and an old air conditioner that couldn’t keep up with the day’s heat. Ed had to be so uncomfortable in there.

  He lowered his voice. “Please, April, your father really doesn’t want you to see him now.”

  She could hear the worry in his tone. “You’ve been talking to a lawyer, right?”

  Vince sighed. “Your dad doesn’t want one right now. He wants to talk to the state police and get this cleared up.”

  “What about the bullet?” April asked. “Aren’t you concerned about that? That has me a little freaked out. It means Frankie was definitely murdered.”

  Vince shrugged. “Unless they find a bone with a bullet hole in it, it’s just Yost blowing smoke. There’s nothing to connect it to the body.”

  April wasn’t as sure. She needed to find the evidence that would give Yost someone else to focus on.

  She hugged Vince. He held her tight. She stayed in the circle of his arms. The vision of her father being led down the hall in handcuffs was not one she’d forget for a while.

  Vince pulled back and, holding her by her upper arms, looked into her eyes. “Listen, we both know he’s innocent. This will sort itself out.”

  They walked to where she’d parked her car, in the bank parking lot across the street.

  Vince had such a steadiness to him, she believed him. Ed was lucky. Someday, she’d like to find a man like Vince. For now, it was enough that he could take care of her dad, leaving her free to find out what happened to Frankie Imperiale.

  And she knew where to start. George Weber had been the code enforcement officer when the Castle was being built. He would have known Frankie. Someone at his wake might be able to tell her the connections between the two. Maybe they knew each other through church. This was a small town. Most people’s lives intersected somewhere. She
just needed to find out where.

  She glanced at her watch. It was just after seven. “I promised my mother I’d go to George’s wake.”

  Vince grimaced and hit his palm against the car door frame. “Damn. I should be there, too. George’s been a fixture at our job sites for a long time.”

  “How about I go as Retro Reproductions’ representative?” April said.

  Vince smiled. “That’d be nice. Please give my love to his kids, and tell them I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

  Her last stint as Ed’s proxy hadn’t worked out very well. She had to tell Vince what she hadn’t told Ed. “Vince, Mrs. H. kicked Retro Reproductions off the Mirabella job.”

  He grimaced. “I know. She’s left sixteen voice mails on the machine.”

  April said earnestly, “I’m going to fix it. Tomorrow. She’ll change her mind.”

  He nodded. “Good girl. I’ve got other jobs the men can go to tomorrow. But I need them back at the mansion by Monday.”

  That gave her one day to fix what she’d ruined: the mural and Retro Reproductions’ relationship with Mrs. H.

  But that was tomorrow. Tonight, she had to find out as much as she could about the short life of Frankie Imperiale.

  April ran back to the barn for a quick shower. She chose a pair of black linen pants, hoping that the wrinkles made the statement that she was a free spirit, not a lazy bum. She dug out a lacy black cardigan to tone down the azure blue tank, and slipped on her heavy silver bracelet. Had Ken known the value of the silver and turquoise Navajo cuff, it would be in the same pawnshop as her engagement ring.

  In the car, she kept thinking about Yost’s bullet fragment. Had Frankie Imperiale been shot? That changed everything. Of course, she knew her father couldn’t have killed a man in cold blood like that, but who could?

  According to the sign outside the funeral home, the service for George Weber was at eight o’clock in the Willow Pond Room. She opened the main doors and went down the hall indicated by the sign. The quiet surrounded her, and she was grateful that the hall was carpeted so her steps wouldn’t disturb the wake. She felt as if she were the only person not in place.

  A table halfway up the hall held the Weber funeral cards that they’d stamped last night. She took one. Through the open door, she could see a priest saying prayers over a closed casket. Every chair was full, with people standing in the back of the room. Deana and Mark were side by side under the windows. He leaned in to whisper in her ear. Deana turned to him, hiding an inappropriate grin behind a cupped hand. April felt a stab of jealousy at the intimate exchange. Her friend had a great husband, one she could work and play with. April felt her own failure with Ken.

  She didn’t see how she could sneak in without causing a disturbance. She stepped away from the door. George’s after-wake party would be held downstairs. She turned back and used the wide central marble steps to the reception hall.

  On the landing, just before the last three steps that turned into the hall, an easel held a poster board of pictures. Written across the top, arched in rainbow lettering, was “George Weber, 1920-2008.”

  “Cheers,” April heard just before she felt the hearty slap on the back. Clive circled around her, watching her face. He looked as if he expected her to be delighted to see him again. His natural goofiness seemed out of place at a funeral, but he was oblivious.

  There wasn’t much room on the landing, but she dodged the kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Clive.”

  “Seen your mother yet?” he asked.

  April shook her head. “I only just got here. Isn’t she with you?

  “She got away from me. She’s probably in the kitchen,” he said.

  That figured. April felt her face twist, reflecting the anger she felt. She’d wanted to talk to her mother, tell her about Ed, in private. “Figures. She’s not happy unless she has a dishrag in her hand.”

  Clive caught the look. “Look, give her a break. She’s shy. Like me.”

  April reared back, unsure if he was kidding. “Shy?” The rock star was protesting shyness?

  He was serious. His eyes narrowed and his pretty mouth pursed. “I am, you know. I’ve only lived in this town for ten years, and the locals don’t take well to outsiders. You wouldn’t believe what they say about me sometimes. Call me a bleeding Limey—”

  April stopped him. She wasn’t worried about his troubles. Her mother was not shy. “What’s my mother’s excuse? She’s lived here her whole life.”

  He said patiently, “Her reluctance to mingle is of a different sort. She’s lived her life under scrutiny.”

  April felt a twinge of pain. As hard as it had been for her after Ed left, she’d graduated early and escaped to the West Coast. Her mother had remained behind—with the whole town knowing her husband had left her for a man.

  Clive took April’s arm. He grinned at her. He was used to his winning smile doing all the work for him. “How about it? Shall we rescue her?”

  April pushed his hand away. She already had a father. Two, in fact. She didn’t need another. “I will help you get my mother out of the kitchen. But only because I want to talk to her. Besides, she’s probably getting in the way of Deana’s hired help.”

  “That’ll do,” Clive said, eyes twinkling.

  April felt as though she’d just been conned, seduced into doing something she wasn’t sure she wanted to do. Her mother liked being in the kitchen. If she didn’t want to come out and be with Clive, that was his business. Not hers.

  Clive was leading her down the steps. He was like the gnats that made it impossible to sit outside on a warm summer night. Small, annoying and resistant to eradication.

  She took the rest of the steps and turned into the reception hall. Despite the fact that the Willow Pond Room had looked full, this room was already teeming with people. She looked for a familiar face.

  The kitchen was separated from the rest of the room by a wide countertop, nearly the length of the wall. It served as a buffet. A door to the right led into the workspace. She could see her mother moving about, opening the refrigerator and setting out cream next to the enormous coffeepot. Two young people in white chef’s coats stood to one side, obviously hired for the occasion but intimidated by Bonnie.

  She felt a surge of annoyance as she crossed the room. Her mother was always serving someone. That made it impossible to have a conversation with her. There was always something that needed to be stirred or basted or fried between them.

  “Hey, Mom. Come on out.”

  Clive stayed behind April, hearing in her voice that she didn’t need backup.

  Bonnie shook her head. “I told Deana I’d keep the bread basket filled.”

  “Why did she hire those two?” April looked meaningfully at the two servers and back at Bonnie. Bonnie’s eyes flashed.

  “Mom, please,” April pleaded.

  Bonnie acquiesced. She took off her apron and came out of the kitchen. April and she stood looking at each other for a moment. April suddenly didn’t know what to say.

  Bonnie picked up a plate and a napkin wrapped around a plastic fork and knife. She held it over the food and asked April, “Make you a plate?”

  The counter was crowded with casseroles of all shapes and sizes. This was a full-on Pennsylvania potluck dinner. April’s mouth watered. She knew without looking what the fare was. There’d be hot German potato salad and cold ham and sliced turkey. Cabbage rolls and pickled eggs. Green bean casserole and Jell-O molds with mayonnaise. Not gourmet food, but the very definition of comfort food.

  In addition to the counter covered with dishes, two eight-foot tables lined the side wall, filled with enough cookies and pastries to feed a small army. Plastic ziplock bags and paper plates were stacked at the end so that the leftovers could go home with the attendees. Hospitality was important when saying good-bye to the dead.

  April shook her head. “No, Mom.” Her stomach growled, and her mother smiled knowingly.

  Bonnie started dishing up pierogies on her p
late. The potato-filled dumplings were a local delicacy, homemade in huge batches by the church women each Friday. Bonnie had put three on her plate before April stopped her.

  “Hang on, Mom,” she said. “Whoa.”

  Her mother looked up, startled. “You love pierogies.”

  April’s teeth were clenched. “I’ll get my own food, thank you.”

  Bonnie set the plate on the counter with a jerk. She picked up a clean plate and nodded her head toward Clive. He pointed, and she loaded up the dish. April sighed. Her mother wouldn’t stop until everyone had eaten and wouldn’t eat until everyone had gone home. Her news would have to wait.