Sure enough, ten minutes later the last three months worth of meeting minutes were sitting in my e-mail inbox. As I read through them my frustration grew. Nothing in the minutes pointed to a motive or a killer in Ethel’s death. Of course it’s not that easy, I chided myself. If it was, the police would have figured it out by now.
Finding out who Ethel had been fighting with would take more time, and I made a note to talk to people in the store and in the neighborhood when I had the chance. Next on the list: the new owners of the McAllister house. Who were they, and what was their story? After all, Ethel had died in their house, so maybe she had some sort of connection to them. A quick Internet search turned up nothing interesting, so I forked over the twenty-five dollars to join a website that would do background checks. I reasoned that I might need to do this again, so it was a good investment, despite the fact that all I learned was where they had lived previously (New York State) and the type of cars they owned (Toyota). No pointing red arrows there.
A check of the crimes activity on the local police department website showed me that although there were various offenses throughout Brewster Square the week Ethel was killed, nothing happened that could give me any more insight into her murder.
A long shot, but worth looking into.
As I sat looking out my third floor window onto the town green, I remembered my conversation with my parents. Was it possible that Winthrop Thurgood, her old flame, had anything to do with killing Ethel? No, that doesn’t make sense, I realized. Too much time had passed, and he had too much to lose now. There’s no way a guy like him would do this. He might crush her spirit and destroy her financially, but as much as I didn’t like Win, I couldn’t see him being involved in any way.
I had one more thing to look into. I wanted to know who I was working with. I wasn’t being nosy, but I wanted to know Oliver’s story if I was going to continue a working relationship with him.
An hour later I called Charlie. “Charlie, it’s me. You are not going to believe how sad this is,” I said.
“Have you noticed we never actually say hello to each other?” she said.
“I’m sorry, hello.” I was horrified for a moment, wondering if I’d insulted my friend. Sometimes I open my mouth and speak before I think about what’s going to come out.
“What’s sad?” she asked.
“Oliver. His story. All of it. I wonder how he got here. I mean, of all the places he could have chosen to move to, he ended up in Connecticut. Why do you think he did that?”
The brief pause in the conversation should have clued me in to her next question. “Who is Oliver?”
“Detective Rialto, sorry.”
“How did we get to be on first name terms?” I could hear voices in the background and realized I was probably interrupting her.
“Charlie, I’m sorry, are you in the middle of something?”
“No, I’m with Fred’s parents at a thing they’re having today at the country club. I was already hiding out in the bathroom because I needed a break.”
That girl had to learn to stand up for herself with Fred’s family. “Are they giving you a hard time?”
“Never mind that,” she said, which meant yes, they were giving her a hard time. “Tell me about the detective. What’s so sad?”
The details were displayed on my computer screen, right from the beginning. The newspapers in Arizona, as well as some of the nationals, covered Oliver’s story every day for almost two weeks.
I tried to get the facts straight in my head so I could start at the beginning. “Oliver was married. I saw pictures of her, and she was beautiful. Long blonde hair, tall, size two with curves … I’m talking model-like stunning.”
“Was? Sounds like she’s dead.”
“Nobody knows,” I said. “Oliver worked for a federal agency when this happened.”
“CIA? FBI? Which one do you mean?” Charlie interrupted.
“Drug Enforcement Agency,” I said. “DEA. Anyway, he was undercover, working to bring down some big drug lord from Mexico.”
“Mexico?”
“This was while he was living in Arizona. There’s a huge drug problem in Mexico. A lot of their product finds its way across the border, and, as you know, it’s a brutal, all out war down there with people getting killed all the time. Those guys are not at all nice.”
“They’re drug dealers, what did you expect? It’s not like they sell Avon for a living,” Charlie said.
“This went way beyond the typical drug dealer not nice thing,” I told her. “From what I’ve read, the head guy in charge of operations, the one that Oliver was up against, is described as having no soul. Newspapers say he’s driven by power and violence and will do whatever is necessary to maintain control over the people. His particular specialty is beheading those who go against him.”
“Now you’re using the present tense. Do you mean this drug guy is still around?”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “Yes, but he’s gone kind of underground. Nobody knows exactly where he is, but rumor has it he’s still in charge.”
“So I don’t get the sad part. Is the sad part because our detective friend, who I didn’t realize was actually our friend until now, failed to put a bad guy in jail?” I wondered how much longer Charlie had until someone came looking for her. For her sake, I hoped talking to me helped her gain her sense of confidence back so she wouldn’t take any crap from Fred’s family.
“No, the sad part is that somehow Oliver’s cover was blown, and he was beaten pretty badly and left tied up in a warehouse. Someone called the DEA office headquarters in Phoenix and let them know where Oliver had been left.”
“This story is starting to sound familiar,” Charlie said.
“You’ll remember it when I tell you the rest,” I said. “I’d read about it, but not in depth until today. Anyway, while Oliver was being held captive someone broke into his home and kidnapped his wife. They left behind a note and nothing else. To this day she has not been located.”
“They never found her?”
“No, but the assumption is that she’s dead,” I said.
“That doesn’t make sense,” she said. “I remember seeing this on the national news a while back, but for a big, bad drug lord guy not to do his thing and leave her alive instead of sending her head back in a box or something …”
“Wasn’t that a movie?” I said.
“I think so,” Charlie said. “Anyway, you’d think this criminal would want the credit for the murder.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “After all, in some ways not knowing is way worse. Oliver’s life just sort of moves on, but not really. He’s not a widower, he’s not divorced, he’s a married guy with no wife.”
“Why are you looking into his background?” Charlie asked. “Do you have a thing for him?”
“No,” I said. The man fascinated me but in a way I didn’t understand. At that moment, my call waiting beeped. I’d been meaning to cancel that service with the phone company. I always thought it was incredibly rude to answer a call from someone else when you were already on the phone, but that’s exactly what I was going to do.
“Charlie, I’ve got a call coming in, hold on,” I said, then clicked over.
“I’m calling to check on the baby,” the voice said on the other end, not bothering to identify herself. “Is he okay?”
“I think you have the wrong number,” I said.
“I should have known you wouldn’t take this seriously,” the voice muttered.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“It’s Debbee,” she said. “Remember, you took a dog from me?”
Her tone annoyed me. “I didn’t take anything from you, you were paid for the dog and agreed to the purchase,” I said.
“Are you taking care of him?” she said. Wow, this woman hit my last nerve.
“No, I locked him in the basement and haven’t bothered to feed him. Of course I’m taking care of him, why would you ask me such a s
tupid question?”
“You’d better be taking good care of him,” she growled.
“Thanks for calling, have a nice day,” I said and hung up, switching back to Charlie. “What a freak,” I said.
“I presume you think you’re speaking to someone else,” the voice answered. Oh, crap, it was still Debbee. Well, I wasn’t about to let her push me around.
“No, I knew it was you. And it is kind of freaky, you calling like this. Do you check on everyone who buys a dog from you?”
“I make sure the animals are taken care of. I’ll tell you what I’m calling about, and that is to make sure you’re feeding him properly. You should come back out to the house and buy my food. It’s organic, and it’s good for the dog.”
This time I got it right when I hung up on her.
“Charlie, you still there?”
“Yes, but I’ve got to go,” she said. “Who was it?”
“The organic lady, the one who had the puppy.”
“Puppy?”
Oops. I’d forgotten to tell Charlie about Sparky. “He’s adorable, you’ll love him,” I said.
“You got a puppy? What do the aunts think?”
“They think he’s great,” I said. “Call me later.”
No sooner had I gotten off the phone with Charlie than it rang again. As I reached for the phone, a knock sounded at the door. Too many people trying to reach me couldn’t be good.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Hold on,” I called out as I reached for the phone.
“Kenny is on his way up, just letting you know.”
“Thanks, I’ll take care of him,” I told Estelle. It was sweet that they warned me whenever he came sniffing around.
The door wasn’t even open all the way when the smell assaulted my nostrils. That man needed to cut way back on the cologne. As much as he used, it was a weapon all on its own.
I blocked the doorway, not letting him in. “What’s up, Kenny?”
“I want to talk to you,” he said.
“So talk.”
He sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Ava, can I come in?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“We missed you in church today.”
“No, you didn’t. Get to the point.”
Kenny looked wounded, but I knew better. That look was for the sole purpose of getting what he wanted. I folded my arms across my chest and waited.
“The thing is, I want to talk to you about your brother’s group. Please. It’s important.”
I knew better, but he had said the magic please, so I stepped aside to let him in.
Once inside, he started pacing. No doubt about it, he was agitated. He didn’t even notice Sparky sniffing around him, wagging his cute little tail. This was a change for Kenny. He always projected confidence whether it was warranted or not.
“Ava, I want you to give some thought to leaving your brother’s group and joining mine instead.”
I tried to arrange my face in a neutral expression, since getting upset with Kenny was generally a big waste of time. He never noticed or cared how others felt about a situation.
“Why would I do a thing like that?” I asked.
“For one thing, it would keep you out of trouble,” Kenny said.
“What do you mean?”
“Ava, you cannot be part of something where you find a dead body, then start poking around trying to figure it out, and expect to stay safe.”
Okay, maybe this time he did care. But Giuseppe’s accusations about Kenny being the murderer sounded in my head. I still didn’t believe it, since this was Kenny we were talking about, but maybe anything was possible.
“What do you know about the murder?” I asked.
Kenny locked both his hands behind his head, a gesture I knew meant he was frustrated. “Ava, please, leave it alone. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked.
“No!” he said. I thought I saw tears in his eyes. “Ava, you’re in over your head, and you know it. I’m trying to help you here.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re stubborn, is what you are. What’re you going to do if this guy comes after you next?’
“Why would that happen? It’s not like I know who murdered Ethel.” I gave Kenny my most piercing stare. “Do you know who killed her?”
“Why are you looking at me like that? I hate when you do that.” His pacing was starting to get to me, but I was afraid to invite him to sit down. He’d never leave if I did that.
Sparky ran and got a chew toy, dropping it at Kenny’s feet. How that man could ignore such cuteness was beyond me.
“No, I do not know who killed her, but it’s not like she wasn’t asking for it.”
“Nobody asks to get killed, Kenny.”
“You know what I mean. She was full of sour prunes, that lady.”
“Kenny, what do you know about Linwood?” The question stopped him in his tracks. I should have asked him that as soon as he came into my apartment.
“Seems nice enough for an old guy,” he said. “Why? What’s he got to do with anything?”
“I read something weird in the newspaper, something he wrote.”
Kenny waved a hand in the air. “You can’t pay attention to anything they print in that thing. It’s full of garbage.”
“What about the article they had praising your coffee shop as a one-of-a-kind town treasure, providing a much-needed cultural outlet?” The comment was rhetorical since I could easily predict his reaction.
“That was different. It was opinion, not news, and it was a good opinion, too.”
He was so easy to lead in a conversation.
“That’s what I read,” I said. “Linwood wrote an editorial piece, and I can’t believe they printed it.”
“Why, is he some sort of right-wing nutbucket?”
“No, but the letter was… odd.”
Kenny looked up at the ceiling. “Honest, Ava, you drive me nuts. I never know what the heck you’re talking about. Get to the point already, will you?”
Maybe he had a point. I did tend to add more information for dramatic effect sometimes, but it only made the story better.
“It’s not like this is some sort of book or something,” Kenny said.
“Fine,” I huffed. “The editorial stated that we, as citizens, needed to be vigilant about our security, that there may be threats in the area that we need to be on the lookout for.”
“What kind of threats?”
I shrugged. “He never came out and said any specifics, but he sort of hinted at foreign threats, terrorists or something. His letter went on to say that if we were not careful about our safety, it could lead to serious security issues.”
“What the heck does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I wanted to get an idea of what you thought of Linwood, whether you thought something might be wrong with him.”
“You think he’s crazy?” Kenny asked. “He has a point. Isn’t that what the feds are always telling us, to report suspicious behavior?”
I shook my head. “True, but his letter rambled and didn’t make much sense. It’s sort of stream-of-consciousness. I just read it this morning, I hadn’t seen it before.”
“Was it in today’s paper?” Kenny looked around, probably wondering where I’d stashed the Sunday paper.
“No, it was online. This was printed a few months ago.”
“What the heck are you doing reading the newspaper from a few months ago? Forget about yesterday’s news. You’ve got to stay up to date.”
I couldn’t tell Kenny I’d been looking for clues about the murder and snooping into Detective Rialto’s past. It was none of his business, and I didn’t want to listen to him yell at me again.
“I was doing some research and came across the letter, that’s all,” I said. The phone rang, interrupting Kenny before he could ask more questions. It was my aunt.
�
��Incoming. Again,” she said, hanging up.
Before I’d replaced the receiver, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Stanley stood at my door, flowers in hand and a smile on his face. “I’ve got a basket of food and a bottle of wine. Let’s have a Sunday picnic,” he said.
“Don’t you think it’s a little cold for a picnic?” Kenny asked.
I didn’t take my eyes off Stanley. “No, I don’t.”
To his credit, Kenny knew it was time to leave. With a soft grunt he buttoned his jacket and squeezed out the door, shaking his head as he angled around Stanley and me.
Grabbing my coat and keys, I looked around for Sparky’s leash. “Where do you want to have a picnic?” I asked. The day was sunny, but Kenny had been right when he’d mentioned it was still a little cold outside.
Offering me his arm, Stanley said, “I’ve set up a space heater for you.”
I stared at him for a moment. “A space heater?”
“In the gazebo. There’s electricity there, you know, for the bands that play in the summer. So I took the liberty of setting up a space heater, because I know you don’t like the cold weather.”
I narrowed my eyes, assessing the situation. “What made you think I’d be home or not busy?”
He laughed. “Busted. Your aunt called, told me that Kenny was here harassing you, and I should get some food and wine and take you out for the whole town to see. I thought it was a great idea, and the whole town can see us in the gazebo, right?”
I smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s stop downstairs to drop off Sparky. I’m sure my aunts will be happy to watch him, especially since this was their idea in the first place.”
We looked down at the puppy, who was again wagging his entire body at us with a stuffed chicken hanging out of his mouth.
“He’s cute,” Stanley said. “He won’t be much protection, but he’s adorable.”
“I know, but I couldn’t leave him in that hellhole.”
“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been out there, but from what you’ve said it sounds like the place wasn’t fit for the little guy.” He leaned down to pet Sparky for a moment, tugging at the toy to play and rubbing the puppy’s belly when he rolled over. Stanley looked up at me and smiled, then stood. “These are for you,” he said, shoving a bouquet of daisies at me. “They reminded me of spring, so I thought you might like them.”
Madness in Brewster Square Page 16
