“Are you dropping the charges?” I stopped, my hand on the door.
“Ernie’s free to go so long as he agrees to keep up my poker lessons. Bill’s cleaning me out every week.”
“I don’t think you can force him to play poker with you,” I said.
“I know that and you know that, but his English isn’t so good, so maybe he doesn’t know. I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t tell him.” Ray took one look at Ernesto going all in with a circus full of animals and folded.
“Ernesto, Ray says you’re free to go. He’d like to invite you to play poker with him sometimes if you don’t have other plans.”
“I will play. I am no working if Boss is gone.”
“I think you should walk Diego home so your sister can stop worrying about you.” Ernesto beamed and jumped up. He dashed for the door, and I watched him embrace Diego. I expected the boy to look embarrassed or to tug away but he hugged his uncle back. Sitting down across from Ray, I snitched another camel and popped it into my mouth.
“Do you remember a cane lying near Beulah’s body when we were working the Museum fire?”
“A cane? No. The only thing I remember seeing is Beulah.”
“She was using one because of her hip replacement. It should have been with her when we found her.”
“Maybe it burned up.”
“The head of the cane was brass. It should have survived the fire.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So who took it? If Beulah was dead, and we were the next ones on the scene, someone else must have taken it.” Ray stopped looking at his cards and gave me his full attention. It still wasn’t impressive, but at least he was trying.
“Like who?”
“Like someone who either killed her or saw her lying helpless on the floor and did nothing to help her.”
“Do you think it was Chris?” Ray asked.
“It could have been him. It could have been Ethel. Either of them seemed cold enough to leave her for dead, and if she had found them at the museum taking stuff, then they had even more reason to kill her. Can you get a search warrant for Chris’s house to look for Beulah’s cane and then let me know if you find anything?” Ray jumped out of his chair and got on the phone.
I took that as a yes and trudged back to work, wondering what had become of Hugh. Was he still filling out paperwork about Chris and Ethel, or had another Christmas tree fire blazed up somewhere in his district.
Hugh phoned the post office ten minutes after I’d stowed my new cane in the back room. He sounded tired and far away.
“I meant to call before this. I got called out to a warehouse fire.”
“Sounds grim.”
“I could use a distraction. Nothing going on in town since I hauled Chris away?”
I filled him in about the value of the stamp, Beulah’s missing cane, Ernesto’s release, and the potential search warrant.
“Sounds like you’ve been as busy as I have. I’ll give Ray a call and meet him at Chris’s to go over the place. If Beulah’s cane is there, it’ll be pretty damning.” We hung up as Clive came back into the post office.
“I thought you’d like to see my Washington stamp since you sounded interested earlier.” He plopped an album on the counter and cracked it open. Thumbing through, he stopped at a stamp that looked like the one from the box at Beulah’s.
“Where did you get this, Clive?” I looked at Clive in a whole new way. He always seemed harmless enough, but that’s what the neighbors of serial killers invariably said.
“I can’t see how it’s any of your business.” He snapped the album shut.
“Did you take this from Beulah’s after she died?” I slapped my hand down on the album to keep him from making off with evidence.
“Of course not. It was a gift.”
“From Beulah?” That was something I couldn’t believe. Beulah was a generous person, but anything she perceived as valuable got sent to the Museum so everyone could enjoy it.
“No, from someone else.” Clive tugged at the album.
“I mentioned seeing one like this recently. It was in a box of things found in Chris’s vehicle as he was fleeing town. The boxes had been in Beulah’s attic, and Augusta and I saw them the day after she died. You’d better tell me where this came from.” I stared at him until he slid his bony hand off the album.
“Ethel gave it to me.”
“Why would she give you a valuable stamp? I thought you said the two of you had stopped seeing each other.”
“We had, but she wanted a favor, so she gave it to me.”
“That’s an expensive thank you. Did she know how valuable the stamp was?”
“Sure she did. She asked me about it the day after the fire at the Museum. I was coming out of the post office when she was headed in. She invited me over for lunch and asked what I thought it was worth.” So Ethel hadn’t wasted any time getting the stamp from Beulah’s as soon as the fire occurred. Did she know about the stamp when Beulah died, or was she just snooping around and got lucky? Did she go to Beulah’s to get it, or did Chris? What did Trina know?
“So was that the favor, to ask you to evaluate the stamp?”
“Nope. She wanted me to hang on to something for her.”
“Which was?” It was like pulling teeth. Usually I couldn’t get Clive to be quiet, and now that I wanted him to talk, I couldn’t pry it out of him.
“A suitcase.”
“A suitcase? She gave you a fourteen-hundred-dollar stamp to hold on to a suitcase? What was in it?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted the stamp. Besides, I thought maybe it was an excuse to get back together with me. I’m hot stuff, you know.” Clive pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his nose, carefully inspecting the contents before stuffing it back in his pocket.
“You have no idea what was in the suitcase, no idea at all?” What kind of a person was more interested in what was in his nose than what was in a secret suitcase?
“Nope. I never looked in it. I saw a little red suitcase about the right size for an overnight visit sitting in Ethel’s favorite chair in the front room. When I asked her if she wanted me to take it when I left, she said no, she had something she needed it for first.”
“Did she say why?” I drummed my finger on the album, frustrated that Ethel couldn’t speak for herself.
“She said something about an appointment for an opinion. She seemed happy about the whole thing. She gave me a second piece of lemon pie.”
“So you never got it?” A missing cane and a suitcase. Missing letters, valuable stamps. I wasn’t sure if things were clearing up or getting muddier.
“Well, she was dead before the next day came. I’d no reason to go back to her house, and she didn’t need me to keep it for her anymore, so I left well enough alone.”
“You didn’t think this was important enough to mention? She could have been killed over what was in that suitcase.”
“If it was that dangerous, I’m glad I never did get a hold of it.”
“I think you should leave the stamp with me for now. Hugh will want to take a look at this.” Clive nodded and shuffled out. I unlocked the safe and put the album in it.
Through the glass in the door I could see Diego pulling his two younger brothers behind him on a long plastic toboggan. He looked happy for the first time since I’d met him. Seeing me, he waved and turned in the direction of the post office.
“You boys look like you’re having fun,” I said, watching Ronaldo and Tulio pile snow onto their laps and into each other’s faces.
“We love snow. We built a snow house and snow persons. My mother is asking for you to come tonight to dinner. Will you do this?” I was completely beat, but I didn’t want to give Diego any reason to stop smiling.
“I’d love to. Is there anything I can bring?”
“No, just come. Seven o’clock.” Diego lifted a woolly mitten at me and rejoined his brothers in the snow.
All the rest of the
afternoon I thought about the search warrant and the suitcase. I couldn’t exactly call Trina’s and ask her how things were going. I still didn’t know if Hugh or Ray had gotten the warrant or if they had found anything in the search. Patrons filed in and out, and business went on as usual. It was pitch dark outside by the time the phone rang.
“Nothing,” Hugh said, “absolutely nothing. Ray and I went over Chris’s house like we were searching for nuclear waste. Zip. If there was ever anything to do with the fires or the Museum thefts, it isn’t there now.”
“So you didn’t find the cane.”
“Nope, no canes, but Trina sent a message for you.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the overflowing sacks of mail and pile of packages near the back door. The floor was filmed over with sandy grime, and my email inbox hadn’t been cleared out in at least a week.
“Let me guess,” I said. “She quit.”
“She definitely quit. I don’t think it’ll do you any good for me to repeat the specifics.”
“I may have something to check into.” I quietly told him about Clive and the suitcase. “Maybe the cane is in the suitcase.” Hugh agreed to meet me at Ethel’s when I got out of the post office in about half an hour. I toddled through the dark towards her house, comfortable using the cane instead of the crutches.
Hugh stood in the kitchen looking at the spot where Ethel’s body had sprawled on the floor only a few days before. His shoulders slumped a bit, and his nose was raw and almost as red as his moustache.
“You look like death warmed over.”
“I received a cold in my Christmas stocking.”
“Did you get a box of tissues to go with it?”
“My mother gives me a half-dozen handkerchiefs with my initials on them every year, so I’m all set.” I wondered if she knew he used them for picking up evidence at crime scenes.
“My mother always gives me weight loss books and exercise videos.”
“That’s not what I’d give you.” Hugh winked at me in a very unprofessional manner.
I blushed and said, “Let’s look for Beulah’s cane.” Hugh stepped across the new white tile floor, dropping snow as he went. I followed him toward the living room.
“Did Clive tell you where he saw the suitcase?”
“He said it was in the front room.”
Methodically, we searched the first floor, beginning with Ethel’s favorite chair. There was no suitcase in the front room, the dining room, the kitchen or hidden in the tiny powder room. Hugh climbed the stairs two at a time. I thought he was just showing off. One step at a time was still a struggle for me. Hugh passed a room decorated with kittens and heaped up with piles of clothes and mounds of junk jewelry and went on to one so full of clutter it was hard to see the bed in the middle of the room.
“I thought Beulah’s house was difficult to sort out. I’d hate to be Ethel’s next of kin.”
“I think that may be Trina with Chris in jail. Do you see a suitcase?”
“Not here in the center of the room I don’t.” I wiggled my way through the piles and opened the closet door. Summery dresses hung on the rod, and plastic storage tubs stuffed with shoes covered the floor. It didn’t look like there was space for anything else, not even as small a thing as the suitcase Clive described.
We searched under the beds, behind all the doors, even up in the attic and down in the basement. We didn’t have any better luck here than Hugh had at Chris’s. After an hour and a half we gave up and collapsed on the sofa.
“It doesn’t look like the suitcase is still here,” I said, leaning back against a toss pillow.
“If it ever was. Are you sure Clive was telling you the truth?” Hugh asked.
“Clive isn’t imaginative enough to make up a story like this. He’d lie to get out of trouble, but I can’t see him inventing this.”
“If he’s telling the truth, the suitcase must have been important.”
“But was it important enough to get her killed?”
“That’s exactly what we need to figure out.”
Twenty-Nine
Thanks to a ride from Hugh I arrived at the DaSilvas at exactly seven o’clock. I sat down and enjoyed being surrounded by cheerful faces and Portuguese as I tucked into the deep-fried chicken turnovers Luisa urged on all of us. Potato salad and tomato salad, rice and chicken covered the table.
“Everything is delicious. Thank you for inviting me. If I’d gone home for dinner, I would have eaten a bowl of cereal standing over the sink.” I reached for another glossy green olive.
“Thank you for helping my brother. We are being so happy he is with us.”
“It was my pleasure.” I saw Luisa elbow Ernesto, and he gave me a long look before speaking.
“Chris is at prison?” he asked.
“He’s at the county jail. If he’s convicted he’ll go to prison.” I put down my fork and gave him my full attention.
“Is only the fires he is at jail for?” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“Right now it is. He may have had something to do with the death of Beulah or Ethel. Do you have something you want to tell me about this?”
“I am worried to say things. I am thinking I do wrong things and not know.”
“Does this have something to do with Chris?”
“I say to you I go with Chris to small building for stuffs when fire is at Museum. I not say we stop at house of dead lady first.”
“You stopped at Beulah’s or at Ethel’s?”
“At the house you are hitting me with sticks.” Beulah’s house.
“Why did you go there?” I leaned toward him and tried to look encouraging.
“Chris give me a stick like you are using. He say to me he find this, and it is of the lady. We take it for to help her.”
“Was she there when you went to her house?”
“No. House is dark, and Chris say for us to go in. He say lady like him.”
“Did the stick have a hand?” I held up my hand with an index finger sticking straight up. Ernesto nodded.
“Did you take the cane into Beulah’s house?”
“I was taking and Chris was looking for other peoples who like to say we are not good taking the stick to the house.”
“Where did you put it?”
“He is saying to me to take to small place for coats. I put there and we go to other town.”
“So you put it in the coat closet and left?” Ernesto nodded. “Did Chris say anything else?”
“He say I am touching with hands, and he have gloves for cold, and if I am saying about this police will say I was in the house of the lady, not him.” I noticed that no one was eating anymore, but all the children were silent, listening, even the smallest one. Luisa laid her hand on Ernesto’s shoulder, and he continued.
“I no have license for drive. I go to Boss house. He say is bad to lose truck and to leave big hand in car. He say is bad that you see me. He say I go away, back to Brazil. I no like to leave Luisa so I go for to hide at house where you find me.”
Ernesto took a breath and slumped back in his chair. His eyes looked too big for his pinched face. Luisa squeezed his shoulder.
“Your information is important. It helps us to prove that Chris didn’t help Beulah when she was at the Museum. He may have even killed her. If he took her cane, there has to be a reason.”
“Do you think Chris killed her with the cane and wanted to hide it?” Diego asked.
“I think I need to see that cane. If it was used to kill her, there should still be something on it to prove it was a weapon.”
“Is my uncle in more trouble?” Diego asked.
“Hugh will need to talk to him again. He may need to go to court to tell what he knows about this.” Ernesto stiffened at the word court. “I don’t think it will matter that he is illegal. The court is not Immigration. All they want is the truth about Chris. It was best Ernesto told me. I was already looking for the cane, and with his fingerprints on it, things would ha
ve looked bad for him.”
“What about staying at Beulah’s?” Diego asked. With his English being the best in the family I wondered how often he acted as a liaison in things that were above the heads of most kids his age.
“My sister owns that house now. She won’t mind you were there. Thank you for telling me, Ernesto. I should go to Beulah’s to look for the cane.”
I said my goodbyes quickly, refused the offer of a doggie bag, and plunged into the cold. My ankle was still hurting, but I didn’t have a choice. The DaSilvas didn’t have a phone or a car. My only other option would have been to have Diego pull me in his sled.
Even though it was only a half-mile to Beulah’s, I was chilled through by the time I arrived on her doorstep. The house felt warmer than the outdoors by at least thirty degrees, but I was surprised to see how quickly puddles formed on the kitchen floor. I flipped on the light and went to the hall closet. Parting the wool coats, I peered in. At the back of the closet I could see the glint of its brass, hand-shaped knob.
I reached for it carefully with my mittened hand. I wished I had one of Hugh’s handkerchiefs to use. He made it look easy. Returning to the kitchen, I held the cane under the light. Something dark had dried in the carved creases of the knuckles and around the brass cuticles of the fingers. It looked like someone had simply wiped it in a hurry instead of washing it carefully.
Beulah always kept a set of high-strength reading glasses on the dining room table with her work. I carried the cane with me to the dining room. The whole house was dark, and I felt a little nervous as I fumbled for the switch for the chandelier. As I reached for Beulah’s glasses a small red suitcase sitting in a chair caught my eye.
I laid the cane on the table, stepped toward the case and tugged on the zipper. Pushing open the lid, I saw a loose pile of envelopes. The paper was yellowed. The writing was antiquated but legible, and I was able to make out the addressee. It was Eustace Hartwell, the man in the photograph with the cane, Beulah’s great-grandfather.
More interesting was the lack of a stamp. The letter had been cancelled in Buffalo, New York, so it had been sent through the post. With a surge of excitement I tugged off my mittens, noting the signature M. Fillmore where the stamp should have been.
Live Free or Die Page 20
