Also the night of the dress rehearsal when Sally ducked out before the curtain call. “That’s nice. Was Sally at the party?”
“She was supposed to come back after the play practice but she never did.” She bit her lower lip.
“Was she your friend?” I asked gently.
“Mom said just an acquaintance and I shouldn’t be surprised I never saw her that night.” The girl hesitated. “But she promised to come.”
“Is your mom here now?”
“Out shopping. She shops a lot.” Then she wrinkled her nose. “I’m supposed to be cleaning my room.”
“Oops,” I said and laughed with the girl. “I’m Dodie. What’s your name?”
“Angela.”
“Angela, did Sally seem upset that morning or maybe the day before?”
“Like mad, you mean?” she asked.
“Mad, or sad, or afraid of something?”
“She was upset with that man,” Angela said.
My neck hairs stood at attention. “What man? Can you describe him?”
Angela shrugged. “I didn’t see him, but Sally was standing on the porch with him and Mom shook my shoulder and told me not to eavesdrop.”
“When was this?”
“The morning of my birthday.”
The day before the murder. “Thanks, Angela. You’ve been a big help.”
“That’s what that other man said too.” Angela smiled proudly.
“Other man? The one who talked with Sally?” I asked.
“No! This one’s really nice. He has a soft voice and cowboy boots. His name is…” She thought.
“Archibald, right?”
“That’s it!”
Of course, he would investigate Sally’s residence. “Did he ask you about Sally?”
“Uh-huh.”
I looked up the stairs. “How many renters do you have here?”
Angela frowned. “There’s Mr. Peterson and Janie…”
“And Sally,” I prompted her.
“And the nice man.”
Archibald was renting a room here? “When did the nice man rent his room?”
Angela frowned and thought. “I think the morning after my birthday party.”
If Angela was correct, Archibald Alvarez had arrived in Etonville before Gordon Weeks’s death…before Bill had broken his ankle. I began to sweat, beads of perspiration rolling down the inside of my sweater. I hunted inside my purse, feeling for my wallet. “Do you like to read?”
“Yes. I just finished A Wrinkle in Time. I loved it!” she said enthusiastically.
“I read that in school too.” I held out a gift card for Books, Books, Books, Etonville’s answer to Barnes & Noble. It was a Christmas present from Benny and family. “Here. Happy Birthday.”
Angela looked at the card. “For me?” She beamed.
“Sure. And if you see Sally, would you have her call Dodie?”
Her head bounced up and down, and I gave her a quick hug. “Bye.”
What a cute kid. I glided away from the snowbank, my thoughts crashing headlong into each other. I had no idea what to make of Angela’s revelations. Who was the real Archibald? What did Bill know or not know about him? What exactly was he doing in Etonville? I checked my watch. I had about an hour and a half until I had to appear at the Windjammer. My cell pinged. Probably Sally! I intended to meet with her and find out exactly what was going on. The Hyundai’s brakes squealed as I approached the light on Belvidere and Anderson. I retrieved my cell from my bag and glanced at the text. Not Sally but Lola: Call me. Need to talk. I was only a few blocks from her house so I hung a right on Anderson and a left on Weston, hitting a patch of ice and sliding to a stop at the edge of her driveway.
Lola opened the front door before I could ring the bell of her Queen Anne Victorian with its ornamental gingerbread detailing and intricate roofline. Dressed to kill, as usual: a tweed blazer and knee-high suede boots. Her blond hair was pulled back in a neat bun.
“That was quick. Where’s your car?” She squinted past me. “Where did you get that thing? Want some coffee?”
“It’s a long story, Timothy’s, and let’s get some in Bernridge.” I stamped my boots to rev up the circulation in my feet.
“Bernridge? Why?” Lola stepped into her house, expecting me to follow.
“I’ll explain on the way. Come on. We don’t have much time.” I headed down her front steps.
“Well, if you say so. Let me get my coat and keys. I’ll drive.”
Lola’s Lexus was usually preferable to my Metro. “Not today. I need to get a car wash.”
“In this weather?”
“It’s almost thirty.” I had the engine growling by the time Lola settled herself into the passenger side of the Hyundai, swathed in her Canadian goose down winter coat. “Where did you say your Metro was? Dodie, this car smells!”
I started with my discovering the hole in the passenger side window, segued to my visit to Sally’s rooming house, and ended with my intention to stop by her workplace, the car wash, to poke around a bit and remove the smoky aroma. I revealed my trip to the bodega for good measure. “But this is strictly on the QT. I haven’t told Bill or Archibald that Sally’s been texting me.”
“Dodie, you’ve been busy. I guess this means you’ll be investigating the murder?” Lola asked hopefully.
“Not on purpose. I’m trying to straighten things out with Sally. I figure if I meet with her, maybe I can persuade her to come in and talk with Bill. Spill the beans on Gordon Weeks. How she knew him.”
“Gordon who?”
Ooops. Bill had told me his name in confidence. “The dead man at the theater. His ID hasn’t been made public yet.”
Lola zipped her mouth shut. We’d shared a good amount of secret information during the last year and only half of it had been broadcast unintentionally. “Why do you think Sally stood you up?”
“I was late. Maybe she got antsy.”
“Still, she texted a second time to make a date. So she wants to meet,” Lola said.
“I’m wondering about the man she had the argument with on the porch.”
“You think it was Gordon Weeks?” Lola asked.
“That makes sense.”
We were on the edge of Bernridge, and my GPS took us through a working-class neighborhood. I could see a red-and-white sign ahead on the left announcing the services of E-Z Clean Car Wash. A handful of men and women swaddled in hoodies and parkas blew on their hands, jumped up and down, and darted from the washing bay to the lot where they dried and buffed the autos. I guided the Hyundai into the washing lane, careful to line up the tires with the track. I requested an extra spritz of something to eliminate the Hyundai’s interior odor, and Lola and I hurried from the car to the waiting room. A television blared a cooking show on the Food Network which reminded me of the Windjammer which reminded me that I needed to find a new home for the frozen pies I’d been keeping for the ELT intermission concessions. Henry was making noises about storage space.
I stepped to the cashier and laid a receipt and a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.
The young woman picked up the money with the pads of her fingers since her pointy nails—painted blue with red sparkles—extended half an inch beyond each digit. “Four dollars change,” she said.
“Thanks…” I studied the name patch on her uniform. “…Aurora.” A lot to live up to there.
“Sure.” She turned to the customer behind me.
“Is Sally here? I know she’s only part-time and I don’t know her schedule—”
“Nope. She quit.”
“She didn’t tell me that. When was she here last?” I asked, attempting surprise.
The guy behind us shifted his weight from one foot to the other, exasperated. The cashier held out her hand for his receipt. “Monday…T
uesday. Might have been Wednesday. I don’t really know.” She made change and dropped the man’s bills on the counter.
He stomped off to wait for his car outside.
“Did she say anything to you the last time you saw her? I mean, did she tell you she was quitting?”
The girl laughed. “Sally? Talk to me? She barely said two words to anybody. First week she was here, she was, like, mute. I mean, the only time I remember her talking to anybody was one day last week. This really cute guy came in and Sally took her break so they could have coffee.” The woman pointed a stiletto nail to the front window of the car wash. Across the street was a diner.
I started to sweat again. “Cute guy? Longish hair, killer eyes. One hot number. Cowboy boots even in this weather.”
“Cowboy boots? This dude looked filthy rich.” The cashier leaned across the counter. “Maybe he was her sugar daddy, if you know what I mean.” She grinned. “I asked Sally if there were more like him wherever he came from. She looked at me like she was going to cry and ran to the ladies’. Sorry if she’s your friend and all, but Sally did some weird stuff. Know what I mean?”
No kidding.
* * *
I was running late. Lola accompanied me to the Windjammer so that I could open up and she could get a cup of coffee. By eleven thirty Benny had the bar in hand and Gillian was checking the online reservations for this evening. Lately, weekend nights brought out all of the stir crazies who’d been indoors all day. But with the temperature supposedly hitting single digits tonight, there was a good chance we’d all be twiddling our thumbs.
Lola planted herself in my back booth with a steaming mug while I popped into the kitchen with inventory sheets. With the success of the Chamber of Commerce dinner, Henry was content to stick with old standbys this weekend. I found him up to his elbows in the business end of a twenty-pound turkey. “Something smells good in here.”
Enrico grinned. “Chorizo and bacon pasta bake for lunch. You want to taste?”
“Later, Enrico. Henry, are we going to have healthy Monday specials?”
I’d been working on him since Christmas to include some light winter alternatives on the menu on Mondays: vegetarian meals, more salads, gluten-free items. I’d thought about adding a tofu option. Of course, I knew what Henry’s recipe for tofu would be: step one, throw it in the garbage, and step two, grill some meat.
Henry withdrew his arm from the turkey. “Lettuce wraps and veggie burgers for lunch and salmon and quinoa for dinner.”
“Yay! I’m proud of you. We’re going to get Etonville eating healthier in spite of itself.”
Henry grunted.
I finished an inventory of the freezer, made a mental note to remind Cheney Brothers Food Distributors about the fish order, poured myself a cup of coffee, and joined Lola in my booth.
She leaned forward. “So…Sally and an older wealthy man?”
We hadn’t had a chance to talk over our findings at the car wash, since the minute we seated ourselves in the Hyundai—smelling a tad better—Lola had fielded a call from Walter. He’d delivered a diatribe on the future of the ELT if they somehow could not open Eton Town. Not to mention the devastation to his playwriting career. Lola listened, adding an “uh-huh” periodically, apparently eager to end the call.
“I’m stumped. Including the man she talked with at the rooming house, that’s two different guys tracking her down within the same week. Not counting Archibald Alvarez, of course. He had good reason to be investigating her residence.” Did he also have a good reason to rent a room at the same location? Before Gordon Weeks had even been murdered?
We sat in silence.
“What do you think about moving Eton Town to another venue?” Lola asked.
“What did you have in mind?” I immediately pictured the ELT crew rolling the turntable down Main Street…not a pretty prospect.
“I think there are a couple of possibilities…”
While Lola described theater options, my mind drifted off to Archibald Alvarez. I was willing to bet there was definitely more going on there than Bill knew. But how much to tell him? I had to step lightly to avoid treading on Bill’s toes. I didn’t want to ruffle his police feathers unnecessarily. Of course if/when he found out I had postponed telling him about Sally meeting me, more than feathers would fly.
“…so what do you think?” Lola asked, finishing off the last of her coffee.
Mine had gone cold and I’d lost the thread of her explanation.
“Moving the show?”
“Sorry, Lola. I got sidetracked,” I said.
“I was saying we could check with the Creston Players, even though Walter would have a fit, or with the VFW Hall in Bernridge. I’d have to restage some scenes without the turntable, which, frankly, ought to be chopped up for firewood if you ask me,” Lola said vehemently. “I think it brought us bad luck. After all, that’s where the dead man was found.”
I knew Lola was firmly wedged between a rock and a hard place, and I empathized with her box office anxiety. But to blame the turntable was tantamount to buying into the Banger sisters’ theory that it was a deathtrap, not simply a laboriously moving, wooden platform. “Those sound like good options to me.”
“I guess I’d better get on the stick and start making a few calls,” Lola said.
Which reminded me that I also had an important call to make.
12
True to my prediction, as the temperature dropped so did the number of patrons dashing from the street to the inside of the Windjammer. I released Benny early and had Carmen step behind the bar. I offered to pick up the last couple of tables so Gillian could leave too. Henry’s turkey and dressing were delicious, perfect winter comfort food, but there would be lots of leftovers. I was thinking turkey enchiladas, turkey fettuccine, turkey pot pie.
“Let’s close the kitchen,” I said to him at nine o’clock. “We haven’t had a walk-in for over an hour.”
Henry agreed, and at ten thirty, I watched him, Enrico, and Carmen traipse out the door with an admonition to drive carefully. I figured there might be a few hardy souls in town who needed an evening drink so I planned to give it an hour and then call it a night myself. The now unoccupied restaurant was ideal for double-duty: a little sleuthing and a sibling catch-up. I tapped a number in my cell phone contacts and waited while it rang on the other end.
“Hello?” said a familiar baritone voice that never failed to trigger a grin from me.
“Hey, little bro. What’s up?” I asked. Though we were only eighteen months apart, I relished the fact that I could play big sis from time to time. And the fact that he and his wife, Amanda, and their two-year-old son, Cory, were now living in Boston. That meant we could spend more time together, as we had at Christmas, playing a marathon game of Monopoly as we used to down the shore, whipping up competing chili recipes, spending a Sunday afternoon arguing about the New York Giants versus the New England Patriots. We’d even concocted family beach plans for Cape Cod next summer. Andy and I were good friends as well as siblings, and I had missed him when he was living on the West Coast.
“It’s Boston! Five degrees and Amanda’s in bed with the flu. I just got Cory to sleep.”
“Sorry about Amanda,” I said.
“I’m keeping her in quarantine. Cory spent January sneezing and coughing,” he said.
“That’s what you get for trading sunny San Diego for Beantown. Maybe Amanda should have refused the fellowship.” If she had, I’d have been really disappointed.
“Yeah. But I’m liking sharing a practice with other therapists. What about you? The Windjammer closed for the weather?” Andy asked.
“No, but I sent everyone else home. Nice and quiet.”
“How’s Bill?” he asked slyly.
I’d divulged the status of our relationship over Christmas—and Andy had been tormenting me ever since
. “Funny you should ask, being a doctor and all.”
“I’m not that kind of doctor. What’s wrong?” He sounded worried.
“Black ice accident. He broke an ankle.”
“Wow…sorry,” he said.
“So in your capacity as that other kind of doctor…”
“I can’t do remote diagnoses, although it sounds like Etonville is full of potential clients.” He laughed.
“I’m not calling about an Etonville resident,” I said coyly.
“So you are interested in a diagnosis,” he teased.
“One a little closer to your home. Sally Oldfield.”
The line went quiet. When he spoke, Andy was serious, all business. “What about her?” he asked, guarded.
“Is there something I should know? I helped her out on your recommendation—”
“My recommendation? What are you talking about?” Andy was truly surprised.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Let’s start over,” he said. “How do you know Sara?”
“She came to Etonville last month and goes by Sally here. I helped her find a room. And she’s in the current theater production. At least she would be if a man she apparently knew wasn’t murdered on the turntable and the show had to be cancelled.”
“What?” he practically yelled.
I proceeded to explain Sally’s showing up five weeks ago and her integration into the Etonville community. “She has a job too. Part-time cashier at a car wash.”
I could hear Andy exhale sharply. “A car wash? Do you know who she is? And what’s this about a murder?”
My brother listened silently to the details of Gordon Weeks’s death and Sally’s disappearance. I skipped over my investigative snooping and the fact that Sally had been texting me.
“You’re not getting involved in this, I hope.” It wasn’t a question. He’d acted like a big brother when he’d discovered my previous investigative activities.
“Not really.” Not too much. “So what aren’t you telling me?”
“First of all, I didn’t recommend she look you up. I probably mentioned having a sister in Etonville but that’s all,” he said hastily.
Running Out of Time Page 10
