by Diane Bator
Fergus O'Reilly squinted in her direction. He seemed even smaller than she'd first thought as he sat behind the front counter of the smoke shop. His face and body were half hidden by the Plexiglas cases on the counter that contained e-cigarettes and a wide variety of flavors of e-juice to fill them. At first glance it seemed an odd thing for a smoke shop to carry, but she guessed that was how he drew in not only the smokers, but those trying to quit as well.
While Fergus watched the front of the store, his grandson, Shawn O'Reilly, carried a box into the front of the store.
"Hey, Gilda." Shawn gave her a nod then turned away from her to unpack several pipes and place them one by one in a display cabinet.
Gilda tried to appear interested in a large wooden box inlayed with metal engraving. It looked like the kind of jewelry box Marion would swoon over, until she realized it was a humidor for cigars. She cringed at the six-hundred-dollar price tag. Maybe being upfront about why she was in the shop would be a cheaper idea.
When Shawn returned to the back of the shop, Gilda glanced at Fergus. She strolled over to the counter and smiled. "Hi. I'm Gilda Wright. I wanted to talk to you about Miss Claudia's plans to clean up Armadillo Street."
He narrowed his eyes then reached beneath the counter to pull out a double-barreled shotgun. "Well, Gilda Wright, if you're taking over terrorizing people for that old witch, this is all I've got to say to you."
"No." Gilda took several small steps back, her eyes as wide as her mouth. "I'm friends with Kane Garrick, the guy who owns the Healing Spirit Gift Shop. I'm the one who found Miss Claudia's body."
Fergus lowered the weapon less than an inch. "Did you kill the hag?"
"I swear I didn't." She struggled to keep her breathing even. "My friend and I went to see her about her plans for Armadillo Street. And for some purple thread."
"Purple thread?" He wrinkled his nose. "For what?"
She kept her gaze on the gun. "Marion had a date last night. She was going to make a new dress."
"Marion?" His mouth crumpled into a half-smirk, and he slowly lowered the gun. "Marion Yearly? I find that hard to believe. I've never seen that woman wear a dress."
"You know her?"
Fergus put the gun away. "I know Marion, her daddy, and even her granddaddy. That little lady has visited my shop from the time she was a wee lass. I started to keep suckers in a jar behind the counter just because of her."
She blew out a breath, glad she'd finally broken the tension between them without shots being fired. "She's my best friend. She was also with me when I found Miss Claudia's body."
"Did she faint?" he asked.
"Yes."
Fergus burst with deep, rough laughter. "That girl never could stand the sight of blood. She has a good reason, though. Her daddy liked a good fight, and sometimes he'd come down here just to rile up the bikers. She'd sit right here on my counter and tell me stories about things she found on the beach while he went out there and stirred up trouble."
Gilda winced. "That doesn't sound like a good idea."
"Nope, it wasn't. The man had a huge heart and big fists, but he wasn't exactly the intelligent sort." He handed her a pink sucker.
She hesitated, not sure how fresh the sucker was. Since carbon dating wasn't an option, she'd have to trust Fergus wasn't out to poison her or feed her rancid candy. After all, she'd trusted Randy when he'd given her an identical sucker only a day earlier. She peeled the wrapper off the sucker. "I spoke to Randy at the tattoo parlor yesterday. He said you might know more about Miss Claudia and the building her shop is in."
Both of his thick, wiry eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "Randy sent you to talk to me? I don't see why. He knows near as much as I do about this part of town." He hesitated. "Did he happen to give you a tattoo?"
Gilda tilted her head, not sure why that mattered. "On my ankle. A yin-yang symbol with vines and flowers."
"Shawn," Fergus called.
Shawn hauled in one more load of boxes. "Yeah?"
"Look after the front. This young lady and I have to attend to some business."
"Yup, no problem, Ferg." Shawn nodded his shaggy head again.
"Stop calling me that." Fergus pushed himself out of his chair and grasped the handles of his walker. "Let's go, Sherlock."
Gilda sucked in a sharp breath. "What did you call me?"
He came around the counter then motioned for her to follow him into the back room. "Randy told me you're trying to figure out who killed Miss Claudia. He also told me you're from Mick's martial arts school and have a history of catching bad guys."
"I guess word gets around in small towns, doesn't it?"
Fergus paused. "I'll bet some of the local cops aren't exactly thrilled about that."
"No, not really." She averted her gaze to scan the boxes of electronic cigarettes stacked on gray metal shelves behind grated metal doors.
He clapped a hand to her shoulder and roared with laughter. "Randy was right about you. He said you are a good person."
"Well, that's good to know."
Fergus closed the door behind her then met her gaze. "That being said. If Miss Claudia's killer is never brought to justice, my heart wouldn't exactly break into tiny pieces, and if that same person was to get an award, I'd be the first in line to shake their hand."
Gilda swallowed hard. "From what I've heard about her, that's completely understandable."
"Then you see my dilemma, my dear. As much as I would like to help you on your quest, I struggle with aiding and abetting the local police force."
"I don't work for the police."
"Which is exactly why I invited you back here rather than tossing you outside on the sidewalk." Fergus reached above a scarred wooden desk and took down a thick, leather-bound book. "Now, what is it you want to know?"
A dozen questions flew through her head, but only one popped out of her mouth. "Who owns the building Miss Claudia had her shop in?"
He patted his shirt pocket and frowned. "Do you mean now, or are you more interested in who she stole it from?"
Gilda's jaw dropped. "What?"
"Miss Claudia has owned it for nearly twenty years." Fergus set the book aside and rifled through some loose papers on the desktop, even opening a small metal box and closing it again before he huffed. "I have no idea who her beneficiary is, but I do know how much she really wanted to own that building."
Gilda grimaced. "Can I help you find something?"
He grimaced. "My glasses."
"On top of your head."
"Of course they are." Fergus reached up and slid down the pair of tortoise shell reading glasses then blinked. "What were we looking for again?"
"The person who owned the building where Miss Claudia opened her store."
"Ah, right." He picked up his copy of The History of Sandstone Cove and flipped it open once more. "I believe the chap's name was Fines. Blake Fines."
She blew out a sigh. The name didn't ring a bell. "Are you sure?"
Fergus gave her a stern glance over the top of his reading glasses. "I'm old. My memory isn't quite what it used to be, Miss Wright, especially when I'm trying to remember things from twenty years ago."
Gilda took a small step back. "Sorry. Take your time."
"Thank you." He resumed perusing his dog-eared book. As his finger traced a line down the page, he muttered beneath his breath. "Fines. Fines. Fines. Oh. My mistake."
"What did you find?" Her heart raced.
"I was wrong." Fergus shut the book. "I think you need to leave now."
Her mouth dropped open. She'd gone from being a good person to being dismissed in less than a minute. "But I just…"
He snorted, returning the book to the shelf above the desk. "I'm a busy man. I don't have time for a troublemaker like you. Go back to your husband and kids, and keep your nose out of things that don't concern you."
"But I don't have a husband or kids."
Fergus flared his nostrils. "Then go out and get some, and leave me
the hell alone."
She shook her head. "I don't understand. What aren't you telling me? What did you find in that book?"
He opened the door that led back into the shop. "I asked you to leave, young lady."
Gilda left the back room and backed away slowly. Before she reached the large humidors midway through the store, Fergus slammed the door, rattling everything on the nearby shelves.
"Well, that didn't take long." Shawn sat at the front counter grinning. "Usually, it takes him at least fifteen minutes to get rid of salespeople. He shot you out of his office in five."
She scowled. "I'm not a salesperson."
Shawn crunched into an apple. "What are you then? Besides nosy."
"I just wanted to talk to him about Miss Claudia." Gilda sighed.
"The old chick who was murdered across the street?" His eyebrows rose. "Man, don't get me started about that old witch. It's no wonder Ferg threw a fit. She was a real piece of work."
"You knew her?" She neared the counter, keeping an eye on the door to Fergus's office.
"Yup." Shawn took another bite of apple then held up a finger, talking while he chewed. "She came in here all the time to rant about shutting us down to make this street safer for everyone. I don't know what she was talking about. There have hardly ever been any muggings here and only a couple murders. Well, not until she died, anyway."
Gilda glanced toward the closed door at the back of the shop. "You don't happen to know who owns the building the fabric store was in, do you?"
"Yeah. Miss Claudia did and, from what I heard, she planned to buy out a couple more buildings too. I think the ones on either side of hers."
"Really?"
He shrugged. "Randy, the tattoo guy, said he was pretty sure she wanted to either renovate or tear them down to make condos."
Kane's rock shop was in one of those buildings.
Gilda blew out a breath. "Do you know who used to own her building? Before she started the fabric shop."
"Everyone does." He bit into the apple again. "Randy's dad used to own half a dozen buildings on this block before he died."
Which meant Fergus didn't actually need to look in the book he'd pulled out, nor did he need his glasses. It was all for show, as was the fake name he'd given to throw her off course.
"What was Randy's dad's name?" Her heart fluttered.
Shawn shrugged. "Vines. Malcolm Vines."
"Really?" Gilda grabbed the countertop as her knees threatened to buckle. "Then you might also know Adam Vines."
"Randy's brother? Big dude, dark hair, dark sunglasses. Of course I do. He comes in here all the time to get cigars." Shawn glanced toward the back room. "Now he's a good guy to stay away from."
Gilda lowered her voice. "Why's that?"
"All I can say is he likes to flirt with a whole lot of trouble." Shawn tossed half his apple into a garbage basket. "I heard he's been hanging out with Gary del Garda. Gary's a local bookie who's been the big boss around here for a long time. Word has it that Adam is trying to get in tight with Gary so he can take over Gary's turf soon."
In the back room, Fergus sounded like he was talking to someone. She guessed he was probably on the phone with one of his buddies, until he raised his voice and cursed.
Shawn winced. "You'd better get out of here, Gilda. He's not going to be happy I even said hi to you."
"So much for good customer service." Gilda left the smoke shop then texted Marion once more, this time about meeting Fergus and what a kook he seemed to be then asked, You still good to go for coffee?
Still no reply from Marion.
CHAPTER TEN
Gilda arrived at the karate school early that day and sat at her computer to search for more information. What kind of man was Robert Sullivan before he moved to Sandstone Cove, and what did he have to do with Malcolm Vines or his sons? Fabio had talked about Sullivan like he was a hardened, career criminal. She understood why someone with the connections Sullivan had would suddenly change his entire life, but why become a middle-aged woman and run a fabric store? Surely he'd had better options.
When she plugged Robert Sullivan's name into the computer, several thousand hits appeared. She blew out a long breath. If he'd become a woman, he'd gone missing from his former life. Surely someone had noticed he was gone. She added missing behind his name in the search bar and held her breath. No one who matched Miss Claudia's description. On a hunch, she changed missing to deceased.
Several Robert Sullivans came up, but she examined their pictures and was able to eliminate several based on approximate age. One face leaped out at her. A man with a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and a hard, stern gaze…Miss Claudia minus the curly, silver-streaked hair.
Gilda shivered and read the blurb attached to his image. This Robert David Sullivan had been a tough-as-nails soldier with post-traumatic stress disorder who was unable to reconnect with the people in his former world. In despair, he took his own life.
Her heart sank.
If he was dead, surely there was no way he could have moved to Sandstone Cove to become Miss Claudia, was there? She continued to skim through the story. Sullivan's body was never recovered. Gilda stared at the screen then went back to read the whole article more closely.
"Robert David Sullivan, forty-one, drove his truck off a cliff along the California Coast Highway and is believed to have perished in the resulting horrific explosion. Sullivan is survived by his wife, Nancy née Vines, and two children, David and Laurel."
Was Nancy Vines related to Malcolm and his sons?
Aislin's words came back to her in a rush. A truck. A fire. A man who is not a man.
Gilda shuddered. She printed off a copy of the story and searched the links for any updated information. Only an obituary as well as a couple photos from his funeral appeared. His coffin was draped with a flag she assumed had been given to his wife, Nancy, before he was interred.
One link led to an article that churned her stomach. A man armed with a shotgun caught in the act of robbing a bank. It seemed military training hadn't curbed his zest for law-breaking. He'd returned from action in Afghanistan only to pick up where he'd left off. Was that what caused him to fake his death and abandon his wife and kids?
Once Gilda had chased down as many links as she could from that angle, she started over with Robert David Sullivan criminal history.
No results came up.
Gilda frowned. She had seen the picture of him with a weapon in a bank, hadn't she? Not ready to give up, she put in Sullivan's full name and birth date. The same obituary. The same images of the cliff on the California hairpin turn. The same image of the gun-toting bank robber.
"What the heck?"
Once more, she tried the many different links that came up beneath his name. Bits and pieces of scattered information surfaced until finally she found an FBI "most wanted" site and sucked in a sharp breath.
"Felony possession. Burglary. Breaking and entering. Kidnapping." Gilda stared at the last word for several seconds as she steeled herself to read on.
Sullivan had kidnapped his own daughter and taken her all the way to New York State before being caught and transported back to Los Angeles. A domestic case. No images of his wife or kids accompanied the article. No mention of whether his daughter was returned unharmed or deceased. Just a brief mention of his trial then his tragic death twenty years ago.
Miss Claudia had died in her sixties. Robert David Sullivan, according to the paper, was forty-one when he died. Or disappeared. Maybe he'd faked his death, dressed up as a woman, and simply walked away from his old life. Was that possible?
She blew out a breath as an image of him in full military gear filled the screen. Sullivan had been a very handsome young man. A far cry from the image of the solemn, hardened veteran she'd seen earlier.
When her gaze fell on the name Malcolm Vines in her notes, she cringed.
"Hey, love." Kane strode into the karate school, wearing a goofy grin. "You're never here this early. What are
you up to?"
She snatched the papers about Sullivan off the printer and slipped them into a folder. Along with a fast note she scribbled as a reminder to talk to Randy again. She hoped she had his business card handy somewhere. "Not much. You?"
"I was hanging out with Aislin, then left her to mind the store while I came to get in a workout before classes." He paused. "I thought I saw you at Miss Claudia's shop with Fabio and Thayer the other day. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah." She closed the open windows on the computer and pulled up a financial spreadsheet in case he came around behind the counter to be nosy. "Things are great."
"Good." He leaned against the counter. "Aislin thought you seemed a bit anxious last night. She said you were giving off weird vibes."
"I was?" Gilda bristled and forced a smile. It seemed Aislin hadn't mentioned her odd visions to Kane just yet. "Speaking of weird vibes. I notice you don't speak with your usual Australian accent much these days."
Kane raised his eyebrows. "I hadn't really noticed—I've been busy."
"Yeah, busy flirting with Aislin."
He reddened. "Now that's not fair, love."
"And it's back." Gilda pretended to find something on her computer screen fascinating.
Kane huffed. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sherlock, but…"
"I've got work to do." She waved him off. "I don't have time to psychoanalyze you."
"Yeah, you're too busy getting into any other trouble you can find." He turned away. "I can tell you're still poking your nose into Miss Claudia's murder without having to see the computer screen, you know."
Gilda's palms sweated. "Why would you say that?"
"You suddenly seem to have some use for hanging out with the police officers." Kane glanced back and grinned.
Her shoulders sagged. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" He kept walking toward the change rooms in back, which infuriated her far more than his words had.
Once he'd gone, Gilda sent Fabio a fast text. I need to talk to you about Robert Sullivan.
No immediate reply. Either he was busy or still peeved about her showing up at the town hall meeting.
