Trouble Magnet

by DelSheree Gladden

  “Not the same shop Ms. Sinclair worked at, though, right?”

  “No, it wasn’t. She worked at a shop in the neighborhood where she grew up in Battery Park, a few blocks away. It’s still there, actually. I looked it up online, and the grandson runs it now.” I looked at the address of the Marsh’s jewelry store. “This was in SoHo, on Canal Street.”

  I quickly typed the address into a search and was disappointed when it popped up as a bodega. “It’s gone.”

  Baxter leaned forward, then copied the address down on the corner of the paper I’d given him with Donny’s information on it. “I’ll see if my friend can look into this address, too. Maybe the business closing has something to do with Donny’s disappearance.”

  I nodded, relieved to feel like there might actually be some answers to be had.

  “Are any of Donny’s siblings still alive?” Baxter asked.

  “His youngest brother, but he lives in West Virginia now. I tried calling, but it was a rest home and they said he wasn’t able to speak anymore because of a stroke.”

  “What about one of the grandchildren?”

  I had the names of Donny’s nieces and nephews from the Census records, but I hadn’t had a chance to look any of them up yet. Without answering Baxter’s question, I started typing in names and cross checking results with the information I already had. Neither of Janet’s children lived in the area. Martin’s only child had passed away a few years ago. The youngest sibling, Colton, had four children. The oldest lived in Northern California, one was in Ohio, one in Texas, and the youngest…still lived right here in Manhattan, in the East Village.

  “Start with her,” Baxter said, “Margaret Lenox.”

  “What do you think the chances are she’ll know anything?” I asked.

  Baxter shrugged. “If your uncle vanished one day out of the blue, wouldn’t that be something you’d want to know about?”

  “What if it’s a family secret?”

  “Family secrets tend to rise to the surface no matter how deep of a hole you dig to hide them,” Baxter said. “She’ll know something. Even if it’s not much, it will give us something to look into.”

  Us? Did Baxter intend on continuing to help me, or was he only saying that because Darren was still puttering around inside the oven?

  Before we could discuss a possible next step, Darren pulled his head out from inside the oven and stood. I watched as he plugged the power cord back in and flipped on the heating element. I may have flinched a little. Not only was Darren not licensed for this, I half expected him to screw it up so he could come back and fix it again. When the element began to glow a faint orange, he gestured at it grandly.

  “Good as new,” he said, clearly expecting applause or a grateful kiss on the mouth. He got neither.

  “Thanks. Looks great,” I said. I gestured at his tools still strewn around the kitchen. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I have some homework for my cooking classes I need to do in here.”

  “I could stay and help with that, too, if you wanted,” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

  Sighing, I ignored him and walked back over to the couch. Baxter shook his head in disgust. At least we were on the same page on this one. When Darren moved to turn off the oven, I told him to leave it, that I needed the oven on for my imaginary homework. He shrugged and set about collecting his tools. It took way longer than necessary, and I just about shoved him out the door when he finally had everything in hand. As soon as I shut the door, Baxter moved to stand.

  “I guess I should let you get to your homework,” he said.

  I snorted. “I totally made that up.”

  He gestured at the oven. “Why did you have him leave it on then?”

  “Last time it didn’t start smoking until it had been on for about twenty minutes,” I explained. “I want to make sure it really works, but I did not want him sticking around that long.”

  “Ah,” Baxter said. “Still, you’d probably prefer an empty apartment.”

  His hand was on the armrest, ready to push himself to standing, but he hesitated and I found I wasn’t ready to be left alone quite yet. “Actually, would you mind staying? The oven might still explode, and I need to call Margaret. Maybe you could…wait?”

  The muscles of his shoulders stayed bunched, then relaxed as he sat back down. “Sure.”

  I eyed the oven warily as I sat next to Baxter. It seemed innocent enough, but you could never quite tell. Putting the oven and the unwanted repairman out of my mind, I looked at the notepad where I’d written down Margaret’s number. I wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her, but I picked up my cell phone and started dialing.

  She picked up after three rings. “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Margaret Lenox?”

  “Yes, this is Maggie,” she said happily.

  “Your dad is Colton Marsh, right?”

  She was a little slower to reply. “Yes.” She paused, then continued. “Who is this?”

  “My name’s Eliza Carlisle. I know this will sound weird, but I wanted to ask you about your uncle Donny, about his disappearance.” I held my breath, begging her to hear me out and not hang up.

  “Why?” she asked slowly. “Why would you want to know about a fifty-year-old disappearance? Are you a journalist?”

  “No, I’m a culinary student.” Why did I tell her that? Shaking my head, I tried again. “That doesn’t have anything to do with anything. I’m calling because one of my neighbor’s was murdered recently, and I know this is going to sound weird, too, but I think it’s connected to your uncle’s disappearance.”

  There was a long, long moment of silence. My hands were shaking as I waited for her to say something. “Look,” she said, “I have to take my daughter to the airport in a few minutes. Is there another time we can talk? Maybe meet somewhere?”

  Caught off guard by her offer, I stumbled over a response. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to hold you up. Meeting would be great. Maybe…I work nights all week, but I guess…do you know where Saul’s Diner is? You could come after the dinner rush and we could talk then.”

  “Saul’s Diner,” she said, sounding uncertain. “Text me the address. My evenings are booked until Wednesday, but I could meet you then. Will that work?”

  “Yes, that would be great,” I said, even though I would have crawled to the East Village if it meant I could have spoken with her earlier.

  She hurriedly gave me her cell number before saying, “Great, I’ll see you then. I really have to run now.”

  “Of course, thank you.”

  She ended the call and I fell back against the couch completely spent. It took more effort than it should have to text her the diner’s address and the best time for her to show up. I thought I might just sit there for the rest of the day. I’d almost forgotten Baxter was sitting next to me until he spoke.

  “I can be there on Wednesday if you’re worried about meeting her alone.”

  I looked over at him, surprised, but not shocked. It was getting harder and harder to be shocked by him. I wasn’t worried about meeting with this woman. She didn’t seem to be hiding anything. In fact, there was a tone of eagerness in her voice to share what she knew. Maybe it was knowing someone cared about what had happened to her uncle when the rest of the world seemed to have forgotten him. Of all the decisions I’d made since moving here that might be deemed questionable, this was the least risky. That wasn’t the answer I gave Baxter.

  “I’d really appreciate that. Thanks, Baxter.” He shrugged, like it didn’t matter one way or another. I suspected it might have been curiosity more than concern that prompted the offer, but I was going to take it, either way. I didn’t ask him to come purely for protection. He was smart, and saw things I didn’t. If I wanted to survive the week, I needed his quick mind in my corner.

  Standing, I turned to look at Baxter. “Since my oven is no longer trying to kill me, would you like some lunch?”

  “More burnt chicken?” he asked, the corner
of his mouth teasing at a smile.

  Gotta love gossipy old women. “Toasted pastrami and Swiss,” I said.

  Baxter stood, but he didn’t look directly at me. “You really don’t need to.”

  “I want to,” I said. “As a thank you for today, and all the other times, and because I feel like being nice.”

  “To me?” Baxter asked.

  I widened my eyes purposely. “Shocking, right?” I smiled, and this time he returned it.

  “Sure, I guess.” He moved hesitantly toward the kitchen as if he were afraid of invading my space. “Do you need any help?”

  Normally, I would have said no—not just to him, but to anyone—but the truth was, when he wasn’t yelling at me about one thing or another, I actually kind of liked having him around. “The Swiss cheese is in the fridge.”

  He nodded and stepped in that direction. He grabbed out the package of deli cheese and the pastrami sitting on the top shelf. He set them on the counter and started unwrapping the packages without me asking. It was strangely comfortable to share the space with him.

  19: Innocent Bystander

  Two and a half days had never lasted so long. Bernadette had been traveling outside cell phone range the last two days. Sonya was still dealing with the water heater cleanup. Classes had been almost painfully boring as we covered topics I already had experience with. The detective that owed Baxter a favor was buried in other cases and hadn’t been able to get back to him about Donny or the jewelry store, yet. Work, at least, was too busy most of the time to let me wallow.

  By eight o’clock Wednesday evening, I was ready to explode. I’d come up empty trying to research more on my own and my deadline was looming closer by the minute. Literally. My one comfort, surprisingly enough, had been Baxter. He’d picked me up from work the last two nights completely on his own initiative. Maybe it was because he worried Bernadette would blame him if I got killed. I was pretty sure he didn’t want me to die, either.

  Peeking out through the order window, I spotted him sitting at a booth by the row of windows, munching on the Rueben I’d made him. Maggie was due to arrive any minute. Anxiety had me twisting my fingers around my apron strings. She said she was coming, but I was terrified she wouldn’t show up. She had the answers I needed. Hopefully. She had to have answers. I was running out of time and options.

  Gwen handed me a ticket, said something about the guy whose order she’d just taken, and disappeared again. I started in on the order, glancing through the window every few seconds as I worked. By the time I put the order up to be served, she still hadn’t shown up. I caught Baxter’s gaze and shrugged, trying not to give up hope. He shrugged back, but didn’t look nearly as nervous as I felt.

  The bell over the front door rang, and both our heads whipped to stare. I’d seen Maggie’s Facebook profile picture, but it had been small and out of focus. I squinted at the woman Gwen had just approached, unsure if it was the right person. Even when she directed her to Baxter’s booth, I was hesitant to believe it was her.

  Gwen hustled over to the order window and said, “Hey, that lady’s here. She said she wanted to talk to you about her uncle.”

  My held breath whooshed out of me. I untied my apron strings and nearly tangled myself up trying to get it off with shaky fingers. “Grab me if another order comes in, okay?”

  Gwen nodded and shooed me toward the door. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants as I approached the table. Baxter saw me first and nodded, gesturing for me to hurry up. Maggie turned, seeing me for the first time. Surprise made her sit up a little taller. She watched me as I walked up and sat next to Baxter.

  “I thought you’d be older,” she said. She laughed and extended her hand. “I’m Maggie. Baxter already introduced himself, so I guess that means you’re Eliza.”

  I nodded. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Well,” she said, “it’s not often someone asks me about my uncle, and even less frequent someone thinks they have information about what happened to him. I felt I had to at least hear you out.”

  “Well, we really appreciate it. We’re out of ideas and hoping you can shed some light on a few things.”

  Maggie nodded. “Tell me about this neighbor of yours, the one you think is connected to my uncle.”

  I wanted to dive into my questions, but I told myself to be patient. If she was going to divulge difficult family history to two strangers, she wanted to be sure it was worth digging up what were probably painful memories. I could understand that all too well. I wasn’t sure how long I’d have before another customer came in, so I gave her the most basic rundown of everything that had happened and stared at her expectantly.

  The frown on her face wasn’t terribly encouraging. Sighing, she sat back in her seat. “I’ve never heard of any of those people.” The disappointment was clear in her voice. “Except for my aunt and uncle, of course. I can’t imagine why this Sinclair woman would have newspaper clippings about them, though. I never heard my dad mention that name.”

  My hopes were taking a nosedive, but Baxter placed a steadying hand on my knee and squeezed it lightly. His gaze stayed on Maggie, though. “Why don’t you tell us about your uncle? Maybe hearing his story will fill in some blanks for us.”

  Maggie shrugged, but launched into what she’d come to tell us. “When you called, you asked about Uncle Donny’s disappearance,” she began, “but he was only missing for about a week.”

  Shocked, I couldn’t keep quiet. “But, there’s no record of him anywhere after he went missing. Nothing.”

  Smiling sadly, Maggie said, “That’s because by the time he was identified, no one cared about some nobody jeweler’s son. It didn’t even make it into the papers, though the initial incident sure stirred up trouble.”

  “Initial incident?” Baxter asked.

  “Late on New Year’s Eve, 1967, a car full of young people, most likely drunk, went on a joyride through the city. Their joyride included handguns they were firing into the air to celebrate the new year. From what the newspaper report said, several witnesses in the apartments above the Canal Street shops heard the gunshots and looked out the windows to see the car,” she said. “The car looked like it hit some kind of pothole, and one of the people in the car who’d been firing the gun fell forward and shot the gun in front of the car instead of up in the air.

  “They didn’t seem to realize they’d shot someone until the car lurched again and started dragging something. When the car stopped, the people piled out and dragged a body out from under the car. A woman watching from a second story apartment called the police and later told them it looked like the people from the car tried to help the man, but the police decided they hadn’t tried to save him since there weren’t any signs of first aid and they drove off before the police got there.”

  I was silent for a moment as her story sank in. I was shocked a group of people would do something as reckless as riding through city streets firing weapons, and appalled that when they hurt someone, they left him there to die. Could this group have possibly been Ms. Sinclair and the friends she grew up with? Was this what turned her into a bitter and angry old woman who found fault with everyone in an attempt to bury her own misdeeds?

  “The man they killed, it was Donny?” Baxter asked. When Maggie nodded, he frowned. “Why wasn’t his name in the newspaper report? We couldn’t find anything about him.”

  Sadness spread across Maggie’s features, making her look older than her forty-one years. “When the police first made it to the scene, several blocks from my grandparents’ jewelry store, Donny was unrecognizable. After being dragged beneath the car, no one knew who he was. The report mentioned a John Doe, and asked anyone who’d witnessed something or might know who the man was to step forward. It took a week of checking hospitals, and then finally morgues, for my grandparents to find him, and only then could they identify him based on several birthmarks on his right arm. By then, no one cared who the John Doe was and my grandparents were so grieved, an obituary in th
e paper was overlooked.”

  “What was Donny doing on Canal Street that night? I can’t imagine the jewelry store was open that late,” I said.

  Maggie shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. But Donny had been working on a special order. It was supposed to be delivered that night, but it was very complex and it took Donny longer than expected to finish it. He was on his way to deliver it when he was killed.”

  Cold swept through my body and I felt Baxter tense beside me. “What had he been making?”

  “A diamond engagement ring for a very wealthy family,” Maggie said. Putting her elbow on the table, she rubbed her forehead, then propped her head on her hand. “The diamond was a family heirloom, I think, worth a fortune. The son was planning to propose to his girlfriend the next day, but the setting was outdated. He wanted something more extravagant. My grandfather was by no means a wealthy man, but he had a reputation as being one of the best jewelers in the city, and Donny was just as talented. I don’t know how an Upper East Side family heard about him, but they brought him the diamond and commissioned the new setting.”

  I had wondered why the jewelry store had closed down. Now, I feared I knew the answer. I asked Maggie anyway. “The ring, Donny had it with him when he left the store, but…”

  “It was gone by the time the police arrived,” she confirmed. Shaking her head, she blinked to hold back tears. “Not only did my grandparents lose their son, the ring being stolen ruined them financially. The family who’d commissioned the setting held them responsible. They lost everything.”

  “That’s horrible,” I whispered, unable to imagine that kind of loss one after another.

  Wiping away a tear, she said, “People can be cruel, but you try to move on as best you can.”

  “Did your grandparents?” Baxter asked.