by Ali Brandon
“And Curt found out about the scheme and wanted in on it,” Darla reminded her friend, “which explains how he ended up dead. But wouldn’t killing Toby have been killing off the goose that laid the golden egg?”
“That’s what I thought, too, so I’m guessing what happened there was semi-accidental. Think about it: Eisen had to have been going crazy over the whole disappearing-Tera situation. Then Armbruster comes poking around the place the other night for some reason. It’s dark, and he’s probably wearing a coat. Eisen gets a quick look at him, just enough to see that blond ponytail, and he jumps to the conclusion that Tera has come back to blackmail him or accuse him, or something. A quick whack on the head—he used a hammer this time out—and no more Tera. Except it turns out that he offed his partner in crime instead.”
Darla gave a sober nod. While the dead building inspector had seemed a particularly unpleasant sort, she still didn’t want to see him dead.
Jake, meanwhile, seemingly was ready to move on to a new subject.
“I don’t know why you’re working today,” Jake now scolded her. “Even a minor concussion isn’t something you fool around with. You should be resting upstairs.”
“I’ve already done that, and I’m going stir-crazy. But I promise, I’m letting Robert do all the hard work until James gets here.” Darla paused and gave her friend a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t say anything to him yet, but I’ve decided to bump Robert up to full-time, at least until after the holidays. So all Hamlet and I have to do is sit here behind the counter and look friendly.”
She gave the feline a fond look. He was sprawled across the counter, taking up most of the spot designated for checkout, where any customer making a purchase would be sure to notice him. Normally, she would have shooed him off to a more convenient location. For the foreseeable future, however, he had a free pass on obnoxious behavior. Besides, he was on convalescent watch, just like her.
From what James had told her later, while Darla was busy protesting being loaded into the ambulance for a ride to the hospital, he and Robert had retrieved her car—the teen, to her surprise, proved to have an actual driver’s license—and transported Hamlet to the emergency vet. Fortunately, Hamlet had been merely stunned by the flashlight that had hit him, and his stint inside the disassembled boiler had done him no additional harm. He’d been sent home with a couple of days’ worth of pills to soothe the pain of a few minor soft-tissue injuries and a bump on his head.
James and Jake had suggested that while Darla remained in the hospital for observation, Robert should camp out in her living room to keep Hamlet company. Darla had groggily agreed. And she’d been touched to find on her return home that Robert had taken the flowers sent by her family and customers and arranged them in bright bouquets around the apartment.
“Speaking of Robert, what are we going to do about helping him find a place to live?” she asked Jake, lowering her voice, although the youth, who was upstairs busily stocking books, could not hear her. “He can’t keep going from place to place each night like he’s been doing.”
“I know. I put out a few feelers, but nothing’s come up that’s in his price range. If James is tired of him, I guess he can stay on my sofa for a couple of nights until we think of something.”
The bells on the front door range just then. Darla saw with pleasure that it was Mary Ann walking in, carrying a covered dish. She gave the old woman a friendly wave.
“There you are, my dear,” Mary Ann exclaimed, setting the dish on the counter. “I tried calling your home number, and when you didn’t answer I took a chance you might be down here. I brought a little something for you so you don’t have to cook dinner tonight.”
“That’s nice of you. I have to admit, I’m pretty tired of soup.”
“I’m sure you are, dear. How are you feeling?”
“Much better. And Hamlet is feeling pretty perky now, too.”
In fact, the cat had risen and walked over to the casserole dish that Mary Ann had left. He took a sniff and sneezed. Then he did a little scraping motion with one paw, as if he were burying something in his litter box, before turning tail and removing himself a few feet from the offending dish.
“Hamlet!” Darla scolded him. “Mary Ann went to all the trouble of making us food, and you diss it right in front of her.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” the old woman replied with a smile and a wave of one bony hand. “It’s a vegetable casserole, which is probably why he doesn’t like it. But what are you doing back at work already? Didn’t you just get out of the hospital?”
“They only kept me for a night . . . but don’t worry, I’m still on part-time duty. I won’t be back to working full-time until next week.”
“Well, my gracious, don’t hurry it. Though I have to keep reminding Brother of that, too.” She sighed. “I have to admit, it’s been difficult trying to work in the store and take care of him. I wonder if it’s time for us to shut the place down and retire.”
“But Mary Ann, you love that store,” Jake protested. “Can you hire some part-time help?”
“My dear, I would love to, but in this economy, people don’t really need antiques and collectibles. We’re barely scraping by as it is.” The old woman gave her head a brusque shake. “Quite frankly, we can’t afford to hire anyone. And if we can’t find someone to rent our garden apartment soon, we’ll surely be in trouble.”
Darla hesitated, glancing Robert’s way, and then exchanged a glance with Jake. So the apartment was still available. Maybe with a little tweaking and compromise, it could prove a solution to both the Plinskis’ and Robert’s problems.
“Mary Ann, I have an idea.”
Swiftly, she explained Robert’s situation. And then, as the old woman tsk’d in consternation, Darla told her how she and Jake and James were taking turns keeping a roof over his head while they tried to figure out how best to help him.
“You know how it is, Mary Ann. With needing to scrape together enough money for first and last month’s rent, plus a security deposit, there’s no way Robert can afford any place that’s inhabitable. I know your rent is pretty much what he makes here in a month now that he’s full-time, but maybe you can take some of it in trade? We’d have to ask him, of course, but maybe he could work for you a few hours on his days off. And since you know him, maybe you’d be able to waive all the upfront money.”
Mary Ann frowned, tapping a finger on her chin.
“Oh, Darla, I’m not sure,” she said in a tone of dismay. “That’s so much money.”
Darla immediately felt contrite. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have suggested it. You and Mr. Plinski need to do what’s best for you. We’ll find a place for Robert eventually, and in the meantime he can stay with one of us.”
“Oh no, my dear. You misunderstood me. I meant, that’s far too much money for me to charge the dear boy for rent.”
Then, as Darla stared at her in surprise, Mary Ann went on, “Frankly, I’m quite distressed that you didn’t tell me about Robert’s troubles before now. I had no idea that he wasn’t living with his father anymore.”
She assumed a militant expression, her strong gaze as she surveyed Darla and Jake that of a woman half her age.
“Face it, girls, Brother and I are old. And that means we can’t do things we used to do, that we have to swallow our pride sometimes and ask for help. And I have accepted this. But some people think that old means foolish. They think that they can take advantage of us just because we don’t see and hear as well as we used to. I don’t want to be one of those old people who wakes up one morning and finds out that her tenant stole her identity and emptied her bank account. And I don’t want to be the old woman who didn’t know her tenant was operating a drug lab in her basement.”
“Mary Ann, that would never be you,” Darla protested.
The old woman gave a firm nod. “And that is because I know that a fat rent check doesn’t mean a thing if the person signing it is a criminal. We know that Robert is trust
worthy, and we like him very much. And it will be a comfort to have a strong young man around the shop on occasion to do the heavy lifting. So I think you need to call him over so that we can sign the deal.”
Darla grinned. “You bet! Robert, come down here,” she called upstairs. “Ms. Plinski is here, and she has a business proposition for you.”
Robert, dressed in black and wearing a tiger-striped vest, appeared at the top of the stairs. “Yo, Ms. Plinski,” he called with a smile and a wave.
Taking the steps three at a time, he landed at the bottom of the staircase and trotted over to join them. “Hey, food,” he said in approval and lifted the lid. “Green bean casserole, awesome! I just ate breakfast, but I can probably eat again.”
“That food is for later,” Darla admonished him with a smile. “We’ve got something more important to discuss. Mary Ann, why don’t you tell Robert our idea?”
“Of course. Robert, it’s like this. Brother and I need a tenant in our garden apartment. You would be doing us a huge favor if you moved in.”
“I’d love to, Ms. Plinski . . . but I can’t, you know, afford the rent,” he protested, looking embarrassed.
Mary Ann shook her head. “Nonsense. We are prepared to suggest a substantial reduction in the going rate in exchange for a few hours of labor a week. I believe the revised rent amount would be within your budget,” she said and named a dollar figure.
Robert’s eyes widened. “That’s not much more than Bill charged me to stay in his basement. Do you, like, really mean it?”
“Certainly. How soon can you move in?”
“I can move in, like, now!” he exclaimed, his tone excited. Then he paused and glanced at Darla. “That is, you know, if Ms. Pettistone says I can leave for a few minutes.”
“Go ahead. You can make it up later.”
Robert gave a little whoop and reached under the counter for his backpack. Then he put out a triumphant fist to Hamlet, who obligingly bumped.
“Hey, little bro, guess what? I have a home. Maybe Ms. Plinski will let me get a dog or something, so you can have some company.”
“Oh dear,” Mary Ann said with a shake of her head as she let the youth escort her out, “let’s talk about that another time.”
As the front door closed after the pair, Darla turned to Jake. “Fist bump for finding Robert a forever home,” she said and touched knuckles with her friend. “I think this will work out fine for all of them.”
“Agreed,” Jake said with a matching grin. Then she glanced at her watch. “Sorry, kid, gotta run. I’ve got a client meeting in five. Will you be all right alone until Robert gets back?”
“Sure. Thursday is usually a slow day, anyhow. Besides, my official attack cat has my back.”
After Jake left, Darla reached under the register for the stack of invoices that had been piling up since her hospital stay. “Might as well work on these while we have some down time,” she told Hamlet and reached for her checkbook. But barely had she opened the register when she heard the shop door jangle, and a familiar voice said, “Hey, Red.”
TWENTY-FOUR
DARLA LOOKED UP. “REESE?”
She hadn’t seen him since the evening in the hospital, when he had come to take her statement. Jake had assured her that was no reflection on her. After all, she reminded Darla, he had a few other things on his list, like making sure there weren’t any other victims of Barry’s besides Curt and the building inspector. But Darla couldn’t help but wonder if his absence had something to do with the fact that he’d arrested the wrong person for Curt’s murder, and that Hamlet had been the one, for all intents and purposes, to solve the crime.
His expression unreadable, he strolled on in. Darla noted that he was back to the motorcycle jacket and jeans look. Either it was his day off, she thought, or he was no longer bucking for a promotion.
“So, holding down the fort alone?” he wanted to know.
She nodded. “Robert is next door with the Plinskis . . . it looks like he’s going to rent that garden apartment from them. And James doesn’t get here for another hour. So it’s just me and Hamlet taking care of business.”
Hearing his name, the feline in question opened a sleepy green eye and gave Reese a disdainful look. Apparently, Hamlet was not impressed by his human counterpart’s detective work. Not that he and Reese had ever been best buddies; still, the cat tolerated his presence.
Unlike with Barry.
“Oh my God, I just realized something,” she said with a small gasp. “Ever since the day Curt was murdered, whenever Hamlet saw Barry or sensed his presence, he would disappear. He didn’t want to be in the same room with him. He knew what Barry had done, and he was afraid of him.”
“Smart cat,” Reese observed.
He hesitated, and then went on, “I don’t like telling you this, but you’ll find out eventually. It turns out this wasn’t the first time the guy has been arrested for murder.”
“You mean, Barry killed someone before Curt and Toby?”
The detective nodded. “There was an incident about ten years ago in Connecticut. Similar scenario, though that time the weapon of choice was a tire iron. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any physical evidence to tie him to the crime, and the only witness statement got tossed for some reason. But I have a feeling the boys in Hartford will be reopening that case again soon.”
“Wow,” Darla replied in stunned disbelief. “I guess next time I decide to date a guy, I’d better be sure I get a paw’s up from Hamlet.”
And then, to her mortification, she began to cry, not stoic tears of fear or confusion, but loud, full-on sobs filled with equal parts outrage and self-pity. Reese handed her a handkerchief but wisely let her keep on crying until the storm subsided and the painful sobs had given way to the occasional sniffle.
“I’m sorry,” she croaked out once she’d blown her nose and dried her eyes. “I feel like an idiot. I’m fine, Hamlet’s fine, and Barry the bastard is in jail. So I don’t know what I’m crying about, except that my head still hurts and my throat looks like something out of a horror movie.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Red. If you were a cop and this had happened to you, you’d have got some mandatory days off and been sent in for counseling. But being the tough bookseller lady that you are, you’re trying to soldier through this on your own. What you’re suffering from is survivor PTSD.”
“Posttraumatic stress disorder? You mean, like what happens to soldiers?”
“And cops and firefighters and pretty much anyone who gets put in a life-and-death situation and manages to survive it. And a concussion on top of the mental trauma makes it twice as bad. You’ve got your nightmares, your feelings of helplessness and paranoia.”
All of which sounded uncomfortably familiar, she realized, thinking over her mental state the past few days.
He paused and gave her a keen look. “I’m not trying to tell you how to run your life, but you don’t do anything about this now, you walk away as a permanent victim. I’ll get you the names of a couple of people who know about that kind of thing. You might want to give one of them a call.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “All right, no more waterworks, at least for now. So, how’s the case going? How long before he goes to trial?”
“Depends on the court’s caseload, but it’ll probably be a good six months at a minimum. But don’t worry,” he added when she gasped a little, “no way Eisen is getting out on bail. You won’t have to see him again until you testify.”
Testify? She hadn’t thought about that, but obviously she was a prime witness in the case. “How about I send Hamlet in my place? After all, he was the witness to the original crime.”
“Yeah, about that.” Reese gave his head a resigned shake. “Jake told me that all you guys think he solved the case.”
“Well, he did. He knew it was Barry, and he told us so.”
She went on to explain in detail about the c
lues that centered on “murder” and “iron,” and how Hamlet’s final dictionary clued had led James to tie everything to Barry’s name. Then, not bothering to hide a small smirk, she finished, “I’m sorry that my sweet little kitty outsmarted you.”
“We would have figured it out eventually without him,” was the detective’s dry response. “But so you know, there was plenty of evidence pointing to Hilda Aguilar. I didn’t just pick her name out of a hat.”
“The pictures I gave to Jake?” Darla asked, remembering the photos that Curt had taken of Hilda, and how the woman had torn them to shreds.
He nodded, and to her relief didn’t mention the whole chain of custody thing. “That, and a series of threatening messages she left on Mr. Benedetto’s voice mail that were pretty damn incriminating. And it turns out that her relationship with her daughter wasn’t all sweetness and light. She and Tera had been fighting over the past couple of weeks. One of Tera’s friends overheard Hilda threatening to hurt her if she didn’t break it off with Curt. But the topper was that she’d bought a gun off some street guy.”
A gun? So Barry hadn’t been lying about that one thing, at least.
“You think about it,” Reese went on, “if Eisen had waited just one more day, there’s a good chance Mrs. Aguilar would have taken care of Benedetto for him.”
“Or maybe Bill the Porn Guy would have stepped in,” Darla added. “Did you ever find out why he and Curt were feuding?”
Reese nodded. “I dropped by to question him the day we located Tera’s phone in the Dumpster. Ferguson wasn’t willing to do much talking without a lawyer around, but he did manage to give me a little something. Apparently, Benedetto’s photography skills went beyond taking pictures of pretty women in parks.”
