Death of a Russian Doll

by Barbara Early

  Ken threw up his hands. “Have at it.”

  He pushed himself out of his chair and out the door so fast, I rushed to gather my purse and follow him. Fortunately my Civic was parked in the alley behind the store, so at least I didn’t need to face the responders, the bystanders, and the media in my Scooby-Doo pajamas.

  I drove a couple of blocks out of the way to avoid doubling back down Main Street, not that it was open to traffic yet.

  “You know where?” Ken said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  When Marya had moved to town, Ken had given up his rented bachelor digs and had purchased a smallish house just a few blocks off Main. I might have driven past it once or twice, especially early on. It was probably the petty part of me that inspected Marya’s attempts at landscaping and choice of drapery colors and found them wanting.

  Jealous? You betcha, not that I admitted that to anyone.

  But this time I pulled in the drive noting that Marya would never return to her little starter home, and it just made me sad. Sad for her. Sad for Ken.

  I shifted the car into park, turned off the headlights, and silenced the engine. Ken made no motion to get out.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He sniffed and stared down at the dashboard. “Can you come in for a minute?”

  “I’m not quite sure I should.”

  “Liz,” he said, gripping my hand. “I didn’t kill her.”

  I gave it a squeeze. “I know that. But you know what this town is like. If some neighbor sees me going into your house right after your wife …”

  He flung his head backward into the headrest. “I’m beginning to hate small towns. As soon as this whole thing is over, I’m packing up and moving to the biggest city that’ll hire me. That is, of course, if your father doesn’t lock me up and throw away the key out of spite.”

  “He wouldn’t do that. If you’re innocent, he’ll clear you and find the killer.”

  “If?”

  “A logical argument. Of course I think you’re innocent. The argument I heard could have occurred between any married couple.”

  “What argument?”

  “The fight you had in the barber shop yesterday afternoon.”

  “You could hear that through the wall? Did your father hear?”

  “He wasn’t in the shop,” I said, not volunteering that I’d had my ear to the drywall. Before Ken could look too relieved, I added, “Besides, you admitted as much to him in conversation sitting at our kitchen table. Also that you suspected there was someone else.”

  Ken’s eyelids popped as if this was news to him. “That’s not something I know for sure. Just that she’d been secretive lately, going out more. I’d caught her lying to me, and I was trying to get to the bottom of it.” He turned to look out the passenger window. “They’re going to crucify me.”

  “Not legal in this state,” I quipped.

  “Liz, I need your help.” He paused to take a long, deep breath. “Keep me apprised of the investigation?”

  “I’ll do what I can to help, but I’m not sure my father’s going to tell me much. He’ll try to keep me out of it. Maybe you should step back, too.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Sit on my hands?”

  A nearby porch light flickered on, and I pulled back my hand, which he’d been clutching until this point. “Did Marya have any family to notify?”

  “None that she kept in touch with,” he said. “Long story.” He rubbed his hands down his thighs. “But I suppose I should call my sisters. They kept in contact even when I thought our marriage was over. I honestly think they liked her better than they like me sometimes.” He stared at his house through the windshield, making no move to go. “They had a lot to do with Marya coming here. I don’t think they wanted to lose her as a sister-in-law.” He glanced up at me. “You’d like them, I think. But they’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  If they were responsible for sending Marya, I doubted we’d get along all that well, but I just nodded.

  “So one phone call,” he said, “and then I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve never been that good at thumb-twiddling. Any pointers?”

  “Frankly,” I said, “my technique is a little rusty, too. But try to get some sleep. Take a shower. Eat a good breakfast. And put all those little gray cells of yours, as Hercule Poirot might say, into coming up with a list of anyone you think had a motive to kill your wife.”

  “Other than me, you mean.” He reached for the door handle.

  “Other than you.” I turned the engine back on and watched as he made his way, shoulders hunched, into his dark, silent home.

  Chapter 6

  Sleep or no sleep, with Dad out once again managing the police force, I went back to managing the toyshop. Or trying to, anyway. Business was brisk with half the town beating a path to the door to make nominal purchases—and then to casually ask me what I knew about what happened next door. Oh, the joys of small town life.

  I smiled and feigned ignorance. When pressed, I remarked that yes, it was scary happening so close. And I took their cash, checks, and credit cards.

  Not that I could brag. Cathy did the same thing all morning, only she did it with a baby balanced on her hip.

  During a brief lull, she managed to get Drew down for a nap. Seeing his peaceful form snoozing in the small playpen made me seriously jealous for my own bed. I yawned.

  “Don’t get me started,” she said. “I’m running on fumes myself. If you wanted to put up the closed sign and dim the lights, I’d happily catch some Zs on the floor like we did back in kindergarten.”

  I shook my head. “We’re doing too much business to close now.”

  “You’d think folks would have learned that we don’t know anything.”

  “But until they do …” I rubbed my fingers together. Not that I was greedy or trying to capitalize on what happened. But like so many other small businesses, we had our struggles, and I’d take customers in any legal way possible. “Besides,” I told Cathy, “we actually do know a few things. Not that I want to share them with customers.”

  Cathy put down the doll she was preening and drew closer. “What do we know?”

  “We know that Ken had an argument with Marya yesterday afternoon,” I said.

  Cathy winced. “That makes him a suspect, right?”

  “Gives him motive that can be corroborated by at least one witness.” I pointed to myself. “Did you hear any of the conversation through the wall?”

  “I didn’t have my ear to it. Oh, Liz, that’s going to be rather awkward if they call you to testify.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said. “They’d only call me if a case against Ken went to trial. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

  When I glanced up, she was focused on the shelf behind me again. “Liz, considering what happened, that might not be in the best of taste.”

  I felt my shoulders tighten. “Is that doll turned around again?”

  “You telling me you didn’t do it?”

  I shook my head. “But I found it that way yesterday, too. Seems we have a practical joker.”

  “Or maybe a poltergeist.” Her face grew more animated. “Maybe trying to tell us something about the murder!”

  “Cathy”—I closed my eyes—“I’ve gotten better with the dolls around, but I’m going nowhere near a haunted one. Can you take it away?”

  “Okay, I believe you.”

  I kept my eyes closed while I heard movement around me. “Is it gone?”

  “She’s in the doll room. Sorry, I really thought you were joking around. You sure you didn’t touch her?”

  I mustered my courage and opened my eyes. The shelf where the matryoshka had stood was now empty. I rearranged merchandise to fill in the space.

  “Who do you think did it?” she asked.

  “Moved the doll?”

  “No, killed Marya Young.”

  That stopped me short. “No idea,” I said after a long gap.

  “Maybe so
meone she met at work?” Cathy said. “A client, perhaps?”

  “A customer irate over a bad haircut?” I suggested, but it sounded absurd even to my ears.

  Cathy frowned. “There’s too much we don’t know. We all thought we knew Ken, but he had secrets. Like the fact that he had a wife. And neither of us went out of our way to get to know her.”

  “I feel bad enough about that already.”

  “Oh, Liz.” Cathy gave me a warm hug. “Nobody expected you to be on the welcome wagon. Nothing for you to feel guilty about.” She pulled back and lifted my chin so that I was staring into her eyes. “We’ll have none of that. I’m sure Dad has the case half-solved by now.”

  “I feel helpless here,” I said.

  “Someone has to mind the shop,” she said. “Speaking of which, there’s a bunch of cardboard boxes in the back ready to be broken down and put into the recycling bin. Would you rather do it while I mind the shop and Drew, or—”

  “Let me do the boxes,” I said. “The fresh air might do me some good.”

  * * *

  As soon as I opened the alley door, I knew I’d made the right decision. The sun shone against a clear blue sky, and I leaned back against the brick building and paused to watch a drop of melted snow from the awning glisten as it tried to race down the already forming icicle before refreezing. It failed. A lungful of stale, hot air condensed in front of me, and I enjoyed the cool crispness that replaced it.

  The faint scent of ammonia tickled my nose. I glanced around to see if I could spot the source, maybe a feral cat. Only I kept the door open too wide for too long. Nearby, a bird fluttered its wings and took off. When I turned my head, there was Val, who had taken the opportunity to escape. She’d missed the bird, but stopped to lick her paw nonchalantly, as if to say, “I meant to do that.”

  “Here, kitty?” I tried sweetly, letting her know just who was boss in our relationship. (She was.)

  She ignored me, but at least didn’t run away. Instead, she froze, craned her neck, and then went into full-on stalker mode, sniffing around the dumpster before creeping toward a narrow walkway between two buildings. With my luck, she’d find that alley cat and pick a fight.

  I trailed after her, speaking loudly enough to chase away stray cats from three counties. But when I rounded the corner, I found her sniffing the shoelaces of Lionel Kelley. Or maybe I should say, Lionel Kelley, private investigator, as his cards and ads all over town read.

  Kelley shot me a frozen smile. “Hi, Liz. Is the cat friendly?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he reached down to pet her, and she took a nip at his hand.

  “Sorry!” I scooped her up, gripping her front legs so she couldn’t claw me. “She’s not friendly at all, but we’re working on it.” Which was true, but it had become clear in the past year that Val was never going to change.

  “Then maybe you should keep her inside. Shouldn’t she have a collar?”

  “We try to keep her inside. She has other plans.” And she’d pulled a Houdini with her collar, slipping out of it repeatedly until finally she’d ditched it. “She has all her shots up to date,” I added, as he inspected his hand.

  While I struggled with the squirming cat, Kelley made no move to leave. I found this peculiar until I noticed a chair and a small cooler in the little walkway.

  “Are you watching something here?” I asked. I tried to consider the vantage point, and the only things he’d be able to see from this particular spot were the backs of the toyshop and the barber shop.

  Kelley bristled. “I can’t divulge the details of a particular investigation. Client confidentiality and all that.”

  “Which means yes,” I said. “But are you watching our place or the barber shop?”

  He didn’t answer, only stared back at me with the condescending look that tended to dominate his face.

  I squinted at him. “My guess would be the barber shop if it has anything to do with the murder.”

  His eyes widened. “Murder?”

  “You didn’t hear?” I tipped my head toward the barber shop. Although our comic book area now took up most of the back portion of the building, they’d retained a narrow passage to the back door for safety reasons. “Right in there.”

  “Who? Who was killed?”

  I paused for a second, tempted to reply that I couldn’t divulge the details of an ongoing investigation, but I wanted to see his reaction to my answer. “Marya Young.”

  The young man paled and wobbled on his feet, failing to keep a poker face.

  “Was she your client?” I asked. Perhaps Marya had been aware of a threat and had hired him to protect her.

  He licked his lips then shook himself out of his surprise. “I’ve said too much already.” He glanced up at the building and then massaged the back of his neck. “Who killed her?”

  “Police don’t know that yet.”

  “Chief Young …”

  “Has been relieved, mainly because he’s too close. The mayor made my dad interim police chief, and he’s heading up the investigation.”

  Kelley set his jaw. “I see.” Kelley and Dad had a history. Kelley had served his rookie years under my father. Well, part of a year, but the young man’s overexuberance—the term my dad used when trying to be nice about it—had led to his dismissal after numerous complaints.

  By this point, the demon-cat grew more verbal in her complaints, trying to squirm out of my grasp.

  “Lionel,” I said, “maybe we could help each other.”

  He stared at me skeptically, as if to suggest that I couldn’t even control a cat. Then again, he didn’t know this cat. “I don’t think so.” He struggled to cram his folding chair into the flexible fabric case then carried it, a duffel bag, and his cooler back down the passageway.

  I watched him leave, but only for a few seconds, because Val was close to extricating herself from my grip. I wrestled her back into the shop, where she practically launched herself out of my arms and took off running. I closed the door and waited for my eyes to adjust to the relative dimness of our back room, then examined my hands and arms to see if Val had drawn blood.

  Had Marya hired Lionel Kelley? Or was he watching her for someone else? And if so, for whom?

  * * *

  A little after two in the afternoon I felt practically comatose and was trying to wake myself up with a lethal combination of Coca Cola and Pixy Stix when Jack Wallace poked his head in the door.

  “If you’re looking for Amanda,” I said, “it’s her day off.”

  “This time, Liz, I’m here to see you.”

  “Sure. What’s up?” I smiled at him. Often when former couples decide to “just be friends,” those friendships fall apart. Ours, however managed to survive. Cathy had asked me once if I felt jealous at all, considering our long history. If I did, it was only of the way Jack and Amanda’s relationship seemed to progress so naturally and seamlessly, as if they were always destined to be together.

  “If it’s about what happened last night,” I added, “there’s not much I can tell you.”

  “I’m not here for gossip.” He paused and studied my face. “Are you all right?”

  “Nothing that a few hours drooling into my pillow won’t cure.” I tried to wave it off, but my fingers started shaking.

  He gave me a curious look then took in the Coke cans and candy wrappers. “Liz, seriously. Are you twelve? No wonder you’re shaking. As soon as I’m done here, I’m going to get you some real food to balance all that sugar and caffeine.”

  I put up my hands. “You won’t hear any complaints from me if you do.”

  “All right, then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry.”

  “You’re acting awfully paternal lately. Any reason behind that?” I added coyly.

  “Well, if you’re not sharing your news …”

  “So there’s news, is there?”

  “There might be. Any day now.” He pinched his eyes shut. “Man, Liz. I never could keep a secret from you.” He
wagged a finger at me. “No coaching Amanda.”

  “Why not? You planning on keeping secrets from her?”

  “Only good ones,” he said. “You got me so twisted around, I almost forgot what I came in here for. Cathy will want to hear this, too.” He waved her over. “Did you two still want to meet Ian Browning?”

  “Can you fix it?” Cathy asked.

  “I learned this morning that he’s going to be at the grand opening gala for new riding stables tonight.”

  Cathy’s shoulders sank. “That leaves us out. No invite.”

  “Someone’s not been reading their Advertiser faithfully,” Jack said. He pulled a folded copy out of his coat pocket and smoothed it on the counter. There, circled in red was an advertisement for the public event and the admission fee.

  “A bag of feed?” I read.

  Jack tapped the fine print. “It’s a fundraiser for the new hippotherapy program they’re starting at the stables.”

  “Disabled hippos?” I said. “At the stables?”

  Jack chuckled. “I think hippo is Greek for horse or something. I guess it’s a special riding program for kids with physical disabilities or emotional problems. The specialist they’re bringing in will draw a salary from the Browning Foundation, but the horses still need to be cared for and fed.”

  Cathy clapped my arm. “Liz, we should go. What a great time to meet Ian Browning when he already has charity on his mind.”

  “Cathy.” I pointed to my drooping eyelids. “Dead on my feet. Do we have to do this tonight?”

  Her jaw dropped. “We don’t run in the same circles. Who knows when our paths will cross again? Besides …”

  “If you say it’s for the children one more time, I may grow violent.”

  She took one giant step backward and sent me a toothy grin.

  I knew when I was licked. “What time?”

  “Says here eight,” Jack said.

  “It starts at eight?” I said. “How late will this thing run?”