by Becky Clark
Was the man in the painting mocking me? I moved the postcard sideways. His eyes didn’t follow me like they would in a bad movie, but something still bugged me about it. He totally looked like Heinrich, but was Heinrich married? Had he ever been married? I racked my brain trying to remember if he’d ever said anything about a wife or ex-wife. Or, really, anything about his personal life. I knew he’d been an English teacher—more specifically, Jenica’s English teacher, which seemed like it should be significant but I couldn’t figure out why. I came up empty on any other facts, which led me again to wonder why Heinrich wouldn’t tell me why he’d missed critique group that morning. He was hiding something, but what?
I knew I had to confront him in person, but I stopped and started to leave half a dozen times, each time with a new question, each time plopping onto my bed with a throaty groan. Was it wise for me to confront a potential murderer this way? Was this how I wanted to be dressed when they found my newly murdered body? How was it possible I knew a murderer? Could an English teacher really be a murderer? Should I drag someone with me? Should I call Lance or Detective Campbell or Ming and tell them what I was going to do?
It probably wasn’t wise for me to confront Heinrich like this, but I didn’t have a choice. Lance couldn’t talk to me about it, and the detectives wouldn’t talk to me, but I had to help Suzanne. I thought about dragging Ozzi, AmyJo, or Sheelah with me, but I knew they’d try to talk me out of it. And as much as I thought I needed to do this, I was afraid it would be too easy for someone to dissuade me.
I stood and stared at myself in the full-length mirror. “You have to do this, Charlee.” I buttoned a red plaid flannel shirt over my comfy jeans and boots.
As a nod to good sense, I left a note addressed to Lance on my kitchen table. Then I used the GPS app on my phone to guide me to Heinrich’s house.
I didn’t know whether to hope he’d be there or not.
•
I saw him through the glass on his front door, talking on his kitchen phone. I debated whether to ring the doorbell or not, but my decision was made for me when he turned and saw me. His shoulders slumped and he lowered the phone to his thigh. He finally motioned me in. He was speaking in German but gestured he’d be finished soon, waving me into the living room to wait for him. I walked in and stood there, realizing I could be in the house of a murderer. What in the world was I thinking? I glanced around the room and only saw weapons, like I was in some kind of weird real-life game of Clue. Candlesticks on the mantle. An antique gun—that might not even be an antique—mounted above the mantle. Cords from the window blinds to strangle me. I noted fireplace tools I could lunge for if I needed a weapon. I sidled closer to them.
Through the other doorway, I could see into the kitchen. Knifeblock filled with a dozen presumably sharp knives. Kitchen shears on the counter by the sink and, next to it, a tube of Glu-Pocalypse.
“What are you looking for?”
Heinrich came up behind me, making me jump.
“You have Glu-Pocalypse.”
He adjusted his eyeglasses, then wiggled his butt. He pulled the unlit cigar from his mouth and sang, “If your force field comes unsealed, if your cup needs to be healed.” He paused, trying to remember the jingle. “If your kitchen faucet drips, or upholst’ry got some rips, Glu-
Pocalypse! Glu-Pocalypse! Glu-Poc-A-Lypse!” He punctuated the last four syllables by jabbing his cigar into the air. He returned the cigar to his mouth and said, “Ja, I have Glu-Pocalypse. Did you come all this way to borrow some?”
I shook my head and he stared, all the while chomping on his cigar.
“I think you know why I’m here, Heinrich.” I tried to keep my voice steady and squeak-free.
He continued to stare and then abruptly turned his back on me and stomped out of the living room.
I leaped toward the fireplace, wondering which unseen weapon he was going after. Regardless, my best defense was the poker, which I grabbed in my right hand. I quickly shifted it to my left so I could dig the phone from the pocket of my jeans. I dialed the nine and the one, then switched hands again. The poker needed to be in my dominant hand. I wished I’d left goodbye forever I love you notes for my mom and Ozzi.
I also wished I’d never come here. Easily remedied. I was heading for the front door just as Heinrich came back in the living room. In his hand he held, not a weapon, but a photo album.
He saw me clutching the poker and my pre-dialed phone and shook his head. He spoke in German. When I didn’t react, he translated. “You’ve got some balls.”
He took a step toward me. I raised the fireplace poker, but he moved to the couch. If he was worried by my defensive pose, he didn’t show it. He sat with the photo album on his lap.
“I’ll tell you what I told the police.”
“Was it the truth? Because that’s all I’m in the mood for right now.”
“Ja.” He flipped pages of the album until he found a particular photo. He turned the book and motioned me to sit next to him.
I brought the poker with me and perched myself at the edge of the couch, poised to jump up if necessary.
He pointed to a teenage girl in a photo. She had long dark hair and matching dark eyes that I knew any man would lose himself in.
I cut my eyes at him, but he shook his head. “Nothing like that. I teach ESL, and Francesca here, one of my students, was in Mercy Hospital having a baby. I was there with her.”
My bewildered brain rattled. Heinrich had never spoken of teaching English to foreigners and he sure as hell didn’t seem like the nurturing Lamaze type. On the other hand, he would love telling a helpless pregnant girl what to do and when to do it. I didn’t know what to think so I simply stared at him, mouth open, trying to keep my brain from rattling too loud.
Heinrich flipped through more pages of the album, smiling at the faces staring back at him.
I stood and waved my hand vaguely at the photo album. “So that’s what you told the police?”
“Ja.”
I returned the fireplace poker to the holder.
“Is it the truth?”
“Of course.” Heinrich closed the album and placed it on an end table.
His landline in the kitchen rang. It startled me so much I almost pressed the final digit in my aborted 911 call. I erased the numbers as Heinrich headed to the kitchen. He called over his shoulder, “Close the door behind you.”
I was thrilled to take his hint. I shoved my phone in my pocket and rooted around in my bag for my keys. As I searched my bag I heard Heinrich’s voice, but the only word I recognized was “Thaddeus.”
Had Einstein called him? It seemed Einstein was the only suspect left on my list.
I finally located my keys. When I got to the car, I locked the doors, drove half a block, parked, and then looked up the number for Mercy Hospital. I asked to be connected to the maternity ward. I knew Francesca would be long gone, but maybe one of the nurses had been on duty last Sunday night. The nurse who answered the phone was in fact on duty but didn’t remember any German man with any of the patients. She asked two other nurses, but nobody remembered him.
Heinrich’s alibi didn’t hold up. Not even a little.
I whipped out of his neighborhood, finding a familiar arterial that I knew led to the interstate. I got off at University and drove all around, searching for a parking place on the DU campus.
I gave up and circled back to park illegally at a nearby Wendy’s. If I was still alive after this, I’d buy something as rental on their parking place. I didn’t really think Einstein would murder me with so many people around, so I set my taste buds for a single with cheese, small fries, and a chocolate Frosty. And a probable parking ticket.
I hurried toward campus, again asking everyone where the physics building was. Again, nobody knew for sure. Some pointed left, some pointed right, but I just kept barreling through unti
l I finally found someone who seemed like they actually knew. They pointed to a
familiar-looking building and I went up to the third floor—this time with much less pain. I hoped that would remain the case.
I flung open the door marked Thaddeus Eichhorn without knocking, quivering with adrenaline. I saw Einstein in his tiny office, sitting at a desk piled high with papers.
“Where were you the night before Melinda was killed?” I blurted.
“Schtupping Heinrich.”
I yelped and felt the adrenaline drain from my body, leaving me to slump against the doorjamb. When I recovered a bit, I managed to squeak out, “Heinrich said he was at Mercy Hospital.”
Einstein stood up, said “Excuse me,” and walked to the opposite wall, which he faced. His back was to me, but he was only about five feet away. He pulled his cell from his pocket and started whispering into it.
I strained to hear, but I couldn’t make out any of the conversation. I glanced around the office for any weapons he might use on me, or any I could use to defend myself. My only defense would seem to be hefting stacks of papers at him. And, of course, the enormous piles he’d have to step over to get to me would surely slow him down. I kept my hand on the door knob.
Suddenly he whirled around and was in front of me before I could even react. I gasped and my hand flew to my chest. Einstein jabbed the phone at me. I took it from him.
“Hello?” I asked tentatively.
“Yes, I teach ESL. Yes, one of my students had a baby. No, I wasn’t at the hospital. Yes, I was schtupping Thaddeus.” Click.
Heinrich and Einstein were lovers? Why was this such a big deal? Men in their sixties finding love was something to celebrate, not hide. Wasn’t it? I opened and shut my mouth four thousand times. Handed Einstein’s phone back without a word. He started to speak, then changed his mind. I started to speak, then changed my mind. He sat back down at his desk.
“You and Heinrich?”
A tiny smile cracked the edges of his mouth. Maybe he was glad I’d found out.
“Why the secrecy? What’s the big deal?”
“No big deal. Just … personal.”
“Are you worried about your job? Because there are laws—”
“No laws against parents.”
“Aren’t Heinrich’s parents still in Germany?”
He nodded.
“Then why—” I remembered how angry Einstein had been when his publisher insisted his author name should be Thaddeus Eichhorn II. “Oh. Your father didn’t like you flying your rainbow flag.”
“He still doesn’t.” Einstein fiddled with a pair of eyeglasses on his desk.
“I thought your father was dead.”
“To me he is.”
I wanted to make him feel better, but this was out of my wheelhouse. “He’s just one guy. Surely there are many others who would be happy for the two of you.”
Einstein looked up and brightened. “I suppose that’s true.”
“So why was Heinrich so mad and evasive when I asked him about his alibi if he was with you? I’m no homophobe. Why lie about being at the hospital?”
“He’s angry with me, not you. For wanting to keep this a secret.”
I stared at him. “That’s pretty insightful. You know, for you.”
Einstein waved a dismissive hand. “Therapy. So much therapy.”
“Well, if the therapy is helping so much, why did you run away from me the other night?”
He wrinkled his brow. “It seemed easier than talking to you.”
“Easier for you, maybe.”
“Of course for me.” He genuinely looked puzzled.
“Of course.” I pulled the door shut as I left, flashing him a grin and a wave.
Heinrich and Einstein. Einstein and Heinrich. Who knew?
I made my way back to the Wendy’s where I’d ditched my car. I went inside and, suddenly famished, ordered a double with cheese, large fries, and a chocolate Frosty.
Staring at my plastic tray of food, my hunger vanished. I was glad neither Einstein nor Heinrich was a murderer, but they were the last two on my list. I’d crossed everyone off. I was back to zero. Technically below zero, since Suzanne was in custody and I knew she wasn’t guilty. I’d failed. Suzanne would go to prison.
I dunked a couple of sturdy fries in my Frosty and scooped out some ice cream. There was something about combining the sweet with the salty that I liked. Peanut butter and honey. Chocolate-covered pretzels. French fries and ice cream. Not as comforting now, however.
I took two bites of my burger and shoved a few more Frosty-covered fries in my mouth, then dumped everything in the trash.
What I really wanted was a drink. Margarita, wine, beer, ethanol. Didn’t care. The day had turned on a weird trajectory I never would have imagined. I was crazy to think I could investigate a murder. I couldn’t investigate my way out of a paper bag. I needed to tell the cops about Suzanne’s breaking and entering. She’d get in trouble for that, but it would be less trouble than murder. And on TV, at least, everybody gets some sort of plea deal if they help catch the real bad guy. But who was the real bad guy? I needed advice.
I called Ozzi. Voicemail. I texted him. You busy? No answer. Probably up to his elbows in computer code.
AmyJo never drank in the middle of the day, so I called Sheelah. “Are you busy? I need to stop by. I just found out something … intense.” I didn’t want to be so cryptic, but I really wanted to see her face when I told her about Einstein and Heinrich. And, despite their good news, I was afraid everything else I had to say would make me start sobbing right there at a Formica table in the middle of Wendy’s.
•
When I got to Sheelah’s, she opened the door and gave me a hug. “How are you?” She ushered me inside. “What’s going on?”
“Well, for one thing,” I said sarcastically, “I’m investigating the hell out of Melinda’s murder.”
“Are you?” She motioned me to sit on the couch next to her.
I nodded. “I’m checking everyone’s alibi, but—”
Sheelah jumped up and held up one hand, traffic cop style. “Hold that thought. I left the iron on. Be right back.”
While I waited, a text came in from Ozzi. He said the place he’d wanted to go for our dinner date was closed and asked me to choose a place. When I tried to tell him which restaurant I preferred, my phone died. I didn’t want any kind of drama between us now that we were back on track, so I assessed my options. He wouldn’t pick up a text from an unknown number, so I couldn’t borrow Sheelah’s phone. She was Android and I was iPhone, so I couldn’t borrow her charger. But I saw Sheelah’s computer and knew I could email him.
“Can I borrow your computer for a sec?” I called, plopping myself on her wheeled desk chair.
She didn’t answer but I knew she wouldn’t care. I jiggled the mouse and the dark screen lit up, showing the background image of a butterfly emerging from its cocoon behind her desktop files. It took me a minute to figure out which internet browser she used and where it was. As I searched for it, I saw a file marked “Melinda Walter.”
“Sweet, she’s trying to help me figure it out,” I murmured. Curious, I opened the file. Mostly it contained the newspaper articles about Melinda’s death, but there was also an image file. I clicked on it.
A mock-up of a prescription label for antibiotics filled the screen.
Twenty-Seven
Sheelah stood in the doorway, holding something behind her back.
“I just wanted to email Oz because my … phone … died.” As I spoke, it dawned on me that the prescription image was one she must have created herself. To support her alibi. “But you had an alibi! I checked it myself,” I blurted.
“Bleeding hearts will always rally to your defense if they think your ex-husband is violating his restraining order. That sap a
t the dentist was happy to lie for me to keep my imaginary ex from finding me.”
A sudden chill hit my spine. “Sheelah, what have you done?”
“Something I’ve been waiting a long time to take care of.” Her voice was like gravel.
“Killing Melinda?”
She shrugged indifferently. “Unfortunate by-product.”
“Of what?”
“Of my real goal. Ruining your life.”
I gasped. “My life? Why?”
“To see you suffer like I did at the hands of your father.” She spat out the word like a bad taste.
“My father? What—?”
“God, you’re stupid. So unaware.” She sneered at me and my blood chilled. “You don’t know what happened then, and you don’t know what’s happening now.” She took a step toward me. I stood and rolled the chair between us, gripping the back tightly.
“Have you talked to your brother lately?” she asked.
I shook my head without thinking. Immediately regretted it. I thought about the note I’d left for Lance telling him I was on my way to Heinrich’s. “But he’ll be looking for me,” I said. I backed away, slowly making my way toward the door, rolling the chair as I went.
“Not today he won’t. You’ll be long gone before anyone knows you’re missing. Especially him. It’s amazing what some well-worded anonymous calls can do to a police officer’s career.”
Goose bumps rose on my arms. “Sheelah, what are you doing? What’s going on? What does Lance have to do with anything? Or my dad?” My whiny voice sounded unpleasant and humiliating.
“I told you. Your dad was the cause of all my pain. He got himself killed by his snitch that day, but worse, he got my Hal killed.” Her face clouded as she walked toward me. “And my kids were taken from me.”
My mind raced. She was talking about the shoot-out in that strip mall parking lot. What did she have to do with that? Was she there? “My dad would never kill a kid.”
