Rocky and April were off the porch now. Rocky grabbed her bike and turned it around. She glanced up to see if Mitch was coming and then pitched her voice low, her comments for April’s ears only. “Whatever you’re trying to do by connecting Tammy with Frankie, you need to stop now. She’s an innocent who’s being stretched to the max. You have no idea what her life has been like in the last year with the deaths at the nursing home.”
“Kind of like the stress of having your father interrogated by the police, I’d imagine,” April said sarcastically.
Rocky was fingering the pieces on her bracelet. One piece was made of brass and looked familiar to April. April bent down and touched Rocky’s wrist.
“Let me see that,” she said.
Rocky pulled away, but April had hold of the piece she wanted to study. She saw the letters “UC” and the front wheels of a truck. “This is part of a Buchert Construction buckle,” she said. “Where did you get this?”
Rocky said, “Tammy and I found it in Lyle’s dresser a couple of years ago. We were looking for found objects for our bracelets.”
April looked at the bracelet more closely. The charms were bits of metal washers, pieces of glass and fiber beads. The eccentric mix was charming.
“Why this?” April asked. “Why the Buchert buckle?”
Rocky looked away as she pulled her wrist from April’s grasp. “It’s a talisman of sorts. Reminds Tammy and me of graduation night. She has a piece, too.”
“That’s weird,” April said.
“The point is,” Rocky called as she rode away on her bike, “Tammy had nothing to do with Frankie. Nothing.”
April leaned against her car, heart pounding. What did Rocky have against her? She needed time to think. But the screen door slammed and she jumped as Mitch came out of the house to join her. “Sorry,” he said.
She didn’t acknowledge him, lost again in thoughts about a long-ago party.
“So now what?” he asked, indicating the mansion behind him. “What are you going to do about the mural?
She tried to pull her thoughts out of the past and into the here and now, shaking her head as she did so. “I really don’t know. I need to get the men back on the job by Monday, or Retro Reproductions will suffer.”
Mitch frowned. “Don’t forget your dad’s part in this. I mean, he’s the one who told Aunt Barbara that you could clean the mural.”
“True, but I doubt he could have imagined that I’d do enough damage to shut down the whole job.”
Mitch’s mouth twitched. “You can’t lay it all on you. Ed’s got to take some responsibility. Your only hope is to get Ed to talk to her and convince her everything’ll be all right.”
“Kind of tough, from a jail cell.” April shrugged. She wasn’t successful at keeping her bitter disappointment out of her voice.
She noticed a blue truck in the drive. “What’s Lyle doing here?”
Mitch said, “He said something about a shipment of pipe coming here by mistake.”
April was annoyed. “Cripes, he was here last night when the pipe was unloaded. I hope he gets up to the Heights job soon. Vince’s expecting him.”
Seeing Lyle’s truck reminded her of the payroll that needed to be done.
“I’ve got to go, Mitch. I’ve got paperwork I have to get done.”
“Just remember, your father has to bear some responsibility for this.”
She headed back to the barn. Mitch’s words about her father had her wondering what to tell him. Chances were Vince had already told him about her contretemps with Mrs. H. yesterday. But she’d assured Vince she would fix things. And she hadn’t.
She could do the payroll. That would help. She dumped the folder Lyle had given her on her father’s desk and flipped through the time cards, trying to place names with the faces of the guys she’d met Wednesday. John Clark, Bernie Dudek, Butch Martin, Carlos Riveria, Mike McCarty.
Retro Reproductions had a total of eight men on their payroll, not including Vince or Ed. Yesterday, there’d been four men on the Mirabella job. Three others were with Lyle on the Heights job. She flipped through the time cards. The workweek ended yesterday, Thursday. The hours had to be allocated to the correct job, and it looked as though Ed used a color-coded system. Lyle’s time card was divided between two jobs: the Heights and the Castle. He wasn’t involved in the Mirabella job. At least not this week. April noticed his whole day was allotted to the Castle. He said he was getting permits, but he was also out at the job site. He’d said he hadn’t seen George and Mo, but Tammy had found out about George’s turned ankle from him. She’d have to ask Mo about what happened on Tuesday.
April noticed John Clark was on record as having worked at the Mirabella job yesterday, but she was sure he was the guy who hadn’t been there. Lyle, or John, had put the wrong color next to his time.
April wrote a note to Ed, outlining the mistake.
Receipts from the supply house and other vendors were in a neat pile on the metal spike. The ones Lyle dropped off last night. She saw the invoice from the delivery from yesterday on top. Sure enough, the materials had been allotted to the Mirabella job. She made a note to ask Lyle about the pipe he’d moved this morning.
There was an invoice for the dynamite from the Eckley Munitions Company. It was dated a month earlier, so April put it in the folder marked “Mirabella.”
April turned on Ed’s computer and found a folder named “Payroll.” Inside the folder was a spreadsheet that Ed had designed. April found last week’s file. The payroll was complicated; each man had a different rate of pay, as did each job. There were benefits to be figured out, payroll deductions for taxes and union dues. Her heart sank. This would take a while.
She added the hours on Mike McCarty’s time card and tentatively plugged in the numbers. The payroll tax was figured automatically, as were the other deductions. Net pay appeared in the final column. As long as she transcribed the number of hours correctly, this payroll should be okay. Then she could write the checks out and have them ready for Ed to sign whenever he got back here tonight. If he got back here.
Her mind wandered back to Frankie Imperiale’s time card that she’d seen earlier. In those days, the pay week had run from Friday to Friday. He’d been paid through Friday, June 11. As far as April knew, no one had seen him after that.
The Castle had been boarded up sometime on Monday, June 14. But the Buchert Construction payroll ended the week before. No one was paid past that day. She’d have to ask Ed who had boarded the place up. He couldn’t have. He was with her.
She finished writing the payroll just after one and closed the checkbook with a flourish, congratulating herself. It was one less thing her father would have to deal with. That felt good.
She had time to eat before heading to the nursing home. Deana had sent her home with enough leftovers to last her a couple of days. As long as she didn’t tire of pierogies, she was set.
Walking toward the kitchen, April spotted her sketchbook on the table. She opened it and looked at the skulls she’d drawn the night before last, one of which had a star-like impression on the side of the head. She opened her camera phone and looked at the real pictures. Her drawings really bore no resemblance to the actual skull of Frankie Imperiale. In her drawings, the star-shaped indentation had been huge, but in reality, it was quite small. Probably not enough to kill anyone.
She looked closer. She couldn’t see a bullet hole from this angle. Had she missed one on the other side? Maybe a bullet had penetrated the skull through the crack. She couldn’t tell. She didn’t have enough information, but she knew where to get some.
April dialed Deana’s number without even stopping to think about it. She knew the number by heart. They’d talked to each other every day, several times a day, all through junior high and high school. She had no other friends for whom this was true. She didn’t even know what Ken’s phone number was. Of course he’d changed numbers so many times to get away from his creditors he probably didn’t kno
w what the number was himself.
Deana picked up right away, recognizing her ring. “April? Is your dad okay?”
April said, “Yost’s still got him. I’m hoping he’ll be home later today. I have a question for you. About the cause of death.”
“Anyone in particular?” Deana asked.
“You know I mean Frankie. I saw the skull, Deana, and I saw that it was bashed in. I mean, there was a star-shaped dent in the side of that man’s head. Could that be why he died?”
Deana said, “It’s very difficult to determine cause of death without the complete body. He could have been knocked on the head without it being fatal, then stabbed through the heart or poisoned. It’s not a given, no, that just because he was hit in the head that that’s why he died.”
Or he could have been shot, April thought. “Yost thinks they might have found a bullet fragment.”
“That would change everything,” Deana agreed.
“What about George’s death, Dee? Is there anything weird about it?”
Deana was quiet for a beat. April was about to check her phone to see if the call had been dropped when Deana said, “People in nursing homes are very vulnerable. Any kind of fall or injury could lead to death.”
April knew the end of a topic when she heard one. Deana would say no more.
Her call-waiting tone sounded. She checked the screen. “Deana, it’s my dad. I’ve got to get this.” She hung up quickly and picked up the call. “Dad?”
“Hi, honey.”
April felt her knees go weak. Her dad sounded okay. “Are you out of trouble?”
Ed’s voice was low. “No, not yet. They’re still talking to me. Listen, Lyle will be dropping off the time cards.”
“He already did. I’ve got them.”
Ed grunted. “The payroll has to be done today.” His voice got higher. “If the checks aren’t in the guys’ hands today, their union can fine me. If I get too many fines, I won’t get any more carpenters when I need them. And too many fines mean Retro will go busto.”
He stopped to draw in a ragged breath, and April interrupted. “Hold up, Dad. You’re covered. I figured out the payroll.”
“You did? With all the deductions and the different rates for each job? That Heights job is a prevailing wage job, you know.”
“I did it. I’m not saying it’s perfect, but I think it’s okay.”
“You’re a doll,” Ed said, the relief palatable.
“One problem. I can’t sign the checks.”
Ed’s voice deflated. “Only Vince or I can sign checks.”
“I’ll bring them to you. Yost will have to let you deal with this.”
“No, bug. I don’t want you here. I’ll have Lyle pick them up. He can get Vince to sign and then deliver the checks to the men.”
“I’ll leave them on the desk. I’ve got to go out for a while,” April said.
“You saved my life today, April.”
“I love you, Dad,” she said, her heart suddenly swamped by the feelings of love and loss.
“I’ll be home soon.”
The nursing home was a converted old house that had been added onto more than once. The front door led to a lobby sitting area, which had folks in wheelchairs lined up along one wall. A woman yelled as she passed, calling April a pretty girl. April didn’t quite get to the desk before she was waylaid by Tammy.
“April, goody. You’re here,” Tammy said, greeting her with a hug and a kiss. “Sign in. Everyone has to sign in. For security reasons.” She pointed to a clipboard at the unmanned desk.
If this was their security system, it was pretty rudimentary. April could have just walked in.
A woman with her tiny feet encased in bright pink fuzzy socks pushed against the floor. The wheelchair moved forward a few inches before Tammy yanked on the handles and brought her back in line.
“Imogene, honey, just sit now. Pretty soon, it’ll be time for Judge Judy.”
The woman quieted. April was surprised by Tammy. Away from the stampers, in her work environment, she seemed far more capable. She stood straighter, and although she wore scrubs festooned with cartoon characters, her manner was professional. Her hair was pulled back with two barrettes and her face was made up lightly, highlighted with lipstick. She soothed the woman in the wheelchair, stroking her back and talking softly. April knew she was on her turf now.
Tammy said, “I’ll take you to Mo and you can ask him about George. You’ll tell Deana whatever you find out?”
April didn’t see how she had much choice. She wanted to get in to talk to Mo, and this was her way in, so she agreed. George was being buried today, and that would be the end of Deana’s connection to this affair, but Tammy obviously thought Deana had some pull.
They found him in a small empty room, lined with shelves holding arts and crafts supplies. Rolls of white paper and jars of paint sat alongside canning jars full of brushes. He was standing at an easel, painting with water-colors, copying a bowl of fruit on the table. He was no artist. His colors were muddy and the shapes were irregular. The oranges looked like pomegranates with distended belly buttons, and the bananas resembled green beans.
Tammy called to him as they entered the room. “Feeling better today? I brought you a visitor. You remember April Buchert?”
He looked up blankly, his eyes watery from staring at his paints. His hand stopped in midstroke, but he smiled wanly when he saw Tammy. He seemed to know she was measuring him and was trying to respond in an upbeat manner.
April said, “We met the other morning at the Castle site. After the dynamite.”
“I remember,” he said. “You’re Ed’s kid.”
April nodded and approached him. Tammy hung back. “I’m sorry about George. Curly told me you were good friends,” April said.
His eyes saddened, and April felt a stab of regret for making him revisit tough times. She steeled herself to ask him more questions he wouldn’t want to answer and went on. “You and George were at the Castle the day before the explosion. I heard George took a fall.”
Mo shook his head ponderously. “The more I think about it, the more I think we shouldn’t have been out there.”
This was a different guy than the man she’d met on Wednesday. He’d had too much time to think. When she’d seen him after the blast, he’d been upset with Yost for thinking George had been hurt at the Castle. “Lamebrain” was the word he’d used to describe Yost’s theory.
Tammy said, “Mo, do you want to sit? You look a little unsteady.”
He shook his head.
He continued, slowly. “We didn’t know how overgrown the place had become. George wanted to check it out. He’d heard about the dynamite permit and wanted to see if it was warranted. He still had connections with the town, even though he hadn’t been the code enforcement officer for years.”
April didn’t want to ask if Mo saw Lyle in front of Tammy. If he was lying, she didn’t need to know. Maybe he just didn’t want to get involved in case George’s family sued Ed.
“And he fell?” April prompted, steering him way from the olden days. For now. As soon as she got rid of Tammy, she’d find out about Frankie Imperiale.
Mo held up a dripping paintbrush and pointed it. “He tripped, but he didn’t really fall. I don’t think that’s what killed him, if that’s what you’re asking. I mean, he got up, brushed himself off and went on. He didn’t even complain of an ache or a pain.”
But, April thought, he could have developed one later.
Mo was dabbing his brush on his palette. “I found him in his room later that night, not breathing. He looked awful, like his last moments on earth were hell. His face was twisted in an ugly grimace.”
Tammy grunted, making April wonder if the grimace was medically significant.
Mo continued. “I see that expression every time I close my eyes.”
Moving to his side, Tammy took the paintbrush from his hand and began rubbing his cheek. She murmured softly. Mo leaned into her. The ta
bleau was so sad, April had to look away. The pain was coming off him like a heat wave.
April could see brightly colored feet coming down the hall. Slowly. Imogene, the woman in the wheelchair, was on the move. Tammy was going to be called out of here any moment. April kept an eye on Imogene’s methodical progress. The woman’s eyes sparkled with adventure. Mo was saying, “You expect to lose friends at my age, but George was the last one I thought would go.”
April racked her brains trying to think of more questions to ask. What would Deana ask?
“How did he behave on the way home from the Castle?” she asked. Imogene was getting closer. Tammy hadn’t noticed yet, but her nurse’s sense was sure to kick in soon. One of her charges was getting loose.
Stamped Out Page 21
