I paused for any questions that might arise, but my rapt audience simply sat there waiting for me to continue.
“I’m going to close the bar on New Year’s Eve and have a private party instead,” I told them. “The party will be for employees and members of the Capone Club, along with their respective husbands, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, or any other guests anyone wants to bring. I haven’t figured out exactly how I’m going to do it yet, but I’m hoping to bring some kind of closure to this letter writer thing that night.”
Cora said, “So I take it you’re planning to invite Suzanne Collier. Think she’ll come?”
“If I have to drag her here myself, I will,” I said.
Frank massaged his temples. “This has gotten way out of hand,” he said. “It’s making all of us paranoid.” He dropped his hand and looked at me with a serious expression. “I agree with you that it’s time to bring it to an end. But you’re playing with fire here, Mack.”
“Frank is right,” Joe said. “Clearly this person, or persons, are dangerous and not afraid to kill. While I like the idea of trying to get to the bottom of who the letter writer is once and for all, this party idea sounds like it might be a bit hazardous.”
I nodded solemnly. “I realize that, but things are coming to a head now anyway after this news article this morning. It’s forced my hand. I plan to invite our police members to the party as well, as much for protection as for figuring everything out. But there are no guarantees, particularly since both Tyrese and Nick are on the list of potential suspects.” I looked at the two men and gave them a loving, appreciative smile. “Of course, the two of you don’t need to come to the party if you don’t want to. I know neither of you are the letter writer, and things could easily go bad that night. I would certainly understand if you opted to stay home.”
Cora arched an eyebrow at me and clapped a hand to her chest. “What?” she said in a tone of mock hurt. “I don’t get the same option? Am I on the list of suspects? Or do you just not care if I get hurt?”
I smiled at her and shook my head. “You’re not on the list of suspects, and you know I care about your welfare. But I really need you here that night. I can’t force you, of course . . .”
Cora rolled her eyes and dismissed my offered escape with a wave of her hand. “You know I’ll be here.”
“As will we,” Joe said, and Frank nodded his agreement. “Frank and I are typically in bed long before midnight, but we’ll make an exception in this case.”
“Throwing this party is going to be a lot of work for you,” Cora said. “Not to mention expensive.”
I shrugged. “True, but it will be worth it. Granted, the money I bring in on New Year’s Eve is typically the most I make all year, but I can handle the loss, particularly since I now have this new source of income working as a consultant. To be honest, I’ve always hated being open all night on New Year’s Eve. People get too rowdy, and it seems like there’s always at least one big fight every year.”
“I suspect that if you accomplish what you hope to, you may see a lot more than a simple fight,” Frank said in an ominous tone.
Debra arrived with the food orders then, effectively shutting down our conversation for the moment. Once the sandwiches were placed in front of everyone and Debra had left, I hit them with my next issue.
“I think it’s time to tell the Capone Club group about the letter writer,” I said. “Some of them will be angry, no doubt, but I think it’s the best thing to do at this point, given everything that’s happened. That way they can make an informed decision with regard to the private party. Some of them might not want to come, and if they do they might not want to bring along a guest. My guess is that whoever is involved in this letter writer thing will want to be here, particularly once I’ve filled the group in on what’s been going on. What do you guys think?”
“You know my thoughts on the matter,” Frank said. “I felt everyone should have known all along.”
His brother looked at him and shook his head slowly. “I think telling them in the beginning would’ve made everyone paranoid and complicated things. You were right not to tell in the beginning, but there does come a point when the truth needs to be out. And you’re the only one who can make that call, Mack.”
Cora gave me a half shrug and an equivocal look. “My thoughts on the matter vacillate from day to day, sometimes from hour to hour. There are times when I think we should have told them sooner and times when I think we shouldn’t tell them at all. There are times when I find it reassuring to be in the know and other times when I wish I was oblivious. But overall I tend to think that informed people will make better choices and decisions.”
I couldn’t help but notice that Cora put the onus on we rather than just me. Her willingness to take the hit with me made me trust and adore her all the more. It’s not that I didn’t adore and trust the brothers—they truly were the closest thing to family I had left—but there were times when Cora understood me better than the brothers could.
“Okay,” I said, with a decisive nod. “It sounds like everyone agrees that the club members should know at some point, and I feel that time is upon us. So I’m going to do it. Can you guys spread the word that I will be making an important announcement to the group tonight? Gather together as many of the members as you can and tell them I’ll be there around seven.”
“Are you going to tell them everything?” Frank asked.
“And are you going to expect them to keep it to themselves?” Joe asked.
“I’m going to tell them the basics,” I said. “But I’m not going to point a finger at anyone, at least not yet. If we give the group enough information, maybe they’ll identify a suspect or two on their own. It will be interesting to see if they come up with the same name we have. At the very least, I want them to be aware that their lives may be in danger. If that creates some paranoia, so be it. I’d rather have them be paranoid than dead.”
Frank said, “Didn’t the letter writer insist that you do things on your own?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but the letters also said not to involve the cops, and clearly that ship has sailed with the newspaper article this morning. The fact is that the rules have changed. I’m going to ask the group to keep the details to themselves for now—I don’t want this going public—but I know I can’t guarantee that any of them will do so. Besides, I’m becoming more convinced with every passing day that the second letter writer is someone from the Capone Club.”
This garnered several long seconds of silent contemplation.
“What about Duncan?” Cora asked. “Are you going to bring him back into the fold?”
I nodded without hesitation, realizing as I did so that he might not want to come back after our discussion yesterday. But I’d already thought this through and realized that Duncan was the one cop who knew the most about the case, other than Mal. Regardless of what I did with regard to the letter writer, Mal’s true identity still needed to remain a secret. It made sense to have Duncan involved from here on out, regardless of where our personal relationship stood. Besides, I’d had a bit of a brainstorm earlier, one that would require me to set aside any difficulties I had in my personal relationship with Duncan for the time being.
“What about Mal?” Cora asked. “If you’re eliminating the need to hide your continued relationship with Duncan, you’re eliminating the need to pretend you have one with Mal. Are you going to explain that subterfuge to the group? Or just let you and Mal as a couple die a seemingly natural death?”
“I’m not going to do either,” I said. “Until I know for sure who is involved with this letter writer thing and what their motives are, I’m going to continue downplaying my personal relationship with Duncan and have it appear as if Mal and I are a couple. Duncan will be involved—at least I hope he will—on a professional basis for now. Besides, Mal is going to continue to be around because he’s going to be overseeing a new remodeling project I’m doing.” Since the brothers didn’t know
about it yet, I filled them in on the plans regarding the elevator installation, and, not surprisingly, they agreed it would be a useful and welcome improvement.
My phone rang then, and when I looked at the caller ID, I saw it was Clay. “I need to take this,” I said to the threesome. I answered the call, asked Clay to hold on, and then hobbled my way out of my chair and into my office.
“Hey, Clay,” I said, once I was inside with the door closed.
“Mack, thank goodness! I was worried you wouldn’t answer my call.”
“Why?”
“Because of that article in the paper this morning. I was afraid you’d think I had something to do with it.”
“I confess, the thought did cross my mind when I first read the piece, but then I had a chat with Holland, and he told me he had contacted someone else he knew at the paper after Duncan let it slip to him that I planned to accept his proposal. It was the perfect storm of unintentional mistakes. And damnable timing.”
“It’s going to make a mess of things for you, isn’t it?”
“I suspect so. My efforts to keep my involvement with Duncan under wraps are futile at this point. I’ve decided to tell the members of the Capone Club about the letter writer later this evening and let the chips fall where they may. It goes without saying that I’m worried for their safety.”
“Perhaps the knowledge, or at least the perception, that the cops have been involved all along will make whoever is behind this think twice before striking again. They may step back and reevaluate things.”
“Or they may go off in a pissed-off frenzy of violence without regard for their safety or any secrecy.”
“Let’s hope not,” Clay said. “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”
“Thanks, and don’t forget that you’re now as much of a target as anyone else. So watch your back.”
“I can take care of myself, but thanks for the reminder.”
There was a knock at my office door, and I crutched around and opened it, propping the phone between my shoulder and ear. Mal stood on the other side.
“I have to go, Clay,” I said, taking the phone in hand again. “Stay well and keep in touch.”
“Will do.”
I disconnected the call and smiled at Mal. “Ready for a trip to the museum?”
“I am. And I hope we can make it a short one because I brought along a bunch of tools so I can start working on your demolition in the basement.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “This is the best part of any reno job. Destruction! I even got a couple of guys I know to come and help on Sunday.”
I gave him a worried look. “You mean guys who work for the crooked construction company you’re investigating?”
He shook his head. “Give me a little credit, Mack,” he said with feigned offense. “I just rounded up a couple of undercover guys I know on the force who would love to take a sledgehammer to a wall in exchange for a free beer or two.”
“Okay, I’m going to trust you on this,” I said, not sure if I should. Alcohol and men bent on mass destruction with sledgehammers sounded like a dangerous combo to me. “I’ll supply the beers, but I’d feel better if they had them after they’re done swinging their hammers.”
“Can do,” Mal said with a smile.
“Listen, before we go, there’s something I want to run by you.” I then told him my thoughts regarding the New Year’s Eve party.
“It’s not a bad idea,” he admitted when I was done. “There’s no guarantee it will work, and there’s always the potential for things to go haywire, but I think it’s worth a shot.”
“Mind if I give Duncan a call and run it by him before we head out to the museum?”
“Of course. Want me to wait for you outside?”
“If you don’t mind,” I said with a grateful smile.
“No problem. I’ll be at the bar when you’re ready to go.”
As soon as Mal left my office, I dialed Duncan’s number. His phone rang several times before flipping over to voice mail. I didn’t want to go into details in a message, so I simply asked him to call me, stating that it was important that we talk. Then I hung up and went to join Mal.
Chapter 15
We headed out to the museum, with Mal driving as usual. It was a sunny day but bitterly cold, the frigid air on my face making me see heat waves again. When we arrived at the museum, we consulted a directory to determine the quickest way to get to the areas that seemed most likely to produce what we were searching for.
“Look at this,” I said, pointing to an area on one of the floor’s maps. “They have a special dinosaur exhibit here. The letter had references to bones, digging, extinction, and old things . . . think that might be it?”
Mal thought for a moment and shrugged. “It seems as good a place to start as any other,” he said. “It’s on the second floor. Let’s go.”
The exhibit required a separate fee, so Mal got in line to buy tickets while I sat and rested my leg. Once he had the tickets, we made our way to the escalators and rode up to the second floor. After handing our tickets over to a young woman at the entrance to the dinosaur exhibit, we headed inside.
The large, cavernous room featured a variety of dinosaur skeletons both large and small, set up in dioramas that matched the terrain and plant life that would have been part of the dinosaur’s natural habitat. The larger specimens were impressive and scary—giant reptile skeletons with vicious-looking teeth, dangerous-seeming claws designed to catch and disable or disembowel prey, and feet that appeared big enough to crush bones into dust.
We made our way around the room, circling the displays and searching for places where one might hide a note, letter, or package. There were a few benches scattered about for patrons to rest on, and we took turns sitting on all of them, settling in and then surreptitiously feeling beneath them for any packages that might have been hidden there. The room was filled with other patrons—adults and children of all ages—and with all the interactive educational displays that were set at kid height, there weren’t a lot of places where one could safely conceal a package or envelope without the risk of some random person finding it.
There was a museum employee wandering about the room—a middle-aged man wearing a vest with the Milwaukee Public Museum logo on it—watching and supervising. I made eye contact with him several times, smiling and appearing as approachable and friendly as I could in case he had been given instructions to watch for me. But halfway through our tour of the exhibit, he was relieved by a different employee, and I realized how hard it would be for any one employee to be given the job of contacting me.
At several of the dioramas, Mal dropped items on the floor so he could bend down and peer beneath the edges of the exhibit areas, and I examined the interiors of each exhibit carefully, looking for any irregularities. After an hour of this fruitless searching, we had toured all but the back of the room where the largest and most terrifying skeleton was displayed: the giganotosaurus. I found myself so horrifyingly mesmerized by the display, and the idea of being eaten by a creature like the giganotosaurus, that I kept forgetting why we were there.
Eventually, we moved beyond this last exhibit toward the very back of the room and the exit. Off to the left of the exit was a gift shop selling all manner of dinosaur-related objects, most of them geared toward kids. A woman was behind the cash register, and on the off chance that she might be the person designated to hand off a package, I wandered in to the store and browsed the shelves until she asked me if she could help me with anything.
I smiled at her and approached the counter, extending a hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Mack Dalton,” I said.
“Charlene,” she said, taking my hand, but pulling hers back quickly. “Did you enjoy the exhibit?”
“Very much,” I said. “Except I was supposed to meet a friend here, and I haven’t seen her. I don’t suppose anyone left a note, or a letter, or something like that for me here?”
She frowned at this, looking even warier. “No
,” she said. “Wouldn’t your friend just call or text you?”
Good question, and I had to think fast to come up with a plausible answer. “She’s old-fashioned,” I said. “She doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“Oh,” the woman said, smiling, and nodding in a knowing manner. “I have a friend like that, too.”
“Well, thanks anyway,” I said, and then I turned to leave before I roused her suspicions any more. The last thing I needed was to be asked to leave the premises because of my behavior.
Mal had hung just outside the gift shop area, and when I rejoined him, I gave him a recap of my conversation with the woman. “I think this is a dead end,” I said. “Maybe we need to hit up a different exhibit. Lord knows there must be old bones in dozens of other exhibits in this place.”
Mal took the brochure guide from his pocket and consulted it. “From the looks of this, I’d say there are plenty. Where do we begin?”
I didn’t answer him because my eyes had zeroed in on something behind him. When he looked up at me, he cocked his head to the side and said, “What is it?”
“Remember how the letter said something about lighting a fire beneath my feet and dampening my spirit? And then it said something about extinguishing a life?” Mal nodded. “Look over there.”
I nodded to the wall behind him, toward a small alcove off to one side of the exit doors. There, tucked into the wall, was an emergency fire hose and extinguisher cabinet fronted by a glass door.
Mal looked at me, excitement on his face. I turned and looked back toward the gift shop; we were still in full view of Charlene. There were other patrons in the shop milling about now, and a small group of people went past us toward the exit doors. But it wasn’t enough.
A Toast to Murder Page 14
