Bobby smirked. "Yap, yap, yap. That's all Hal did. He never knew when to shut up."
"He treated you like an errand boy, didn't he? Sending you to do odd jobs for him. That must have be upsetting. It never dawned on Hal that you knew this place inside and out. You even knew where Essie kept all her paintings. But how'd you get around the lock she put on the storage closet door?"
"I installed it and kept a key," he said, with a hoot of laughter. "Just like I did on the new locks to your doors."
"Geez," I said. "I never thought about that. Am I a dope or what?"
"Nobody pays a bit of attention to the guy with the hammer.”
I nodded eagerly. "That’s too bad, isn’t it? Hal deserved what he got, didn't he? He made the big money and turned all the hard jobs over to you. You did all the work."
"That's right." He looked pleased with himself.
"Let me guess how it went down. MJ had been making noises about visiting her mother in Michigan. Then Essie had her stroke. Irving decided to build out the apartments. Essie gave MJ permission to close the store and go up north, so you loaned her the money for airfare. Hal promised him that he'd do the job himself. That way Irving wouldn't have to worry about Essie's antiques and a stranger in the store."
"That liar. Hal never did anything all by himself. He couldn't estimate a job, he couldn't do the job, and he never kept his promises."
"That left you to do all the work yourself. You were free to come and go as you pleased. You did a great job on the dividing wall. There aren’t any outlets in them because you decided it would be too risky to bring in an electrician, right?"
"Right. You're smarter than you look," he said in a growl. "I had this totally under control until you showed up."
"Why did Hal have to die?"
"He had his eye on this particular painting by Al Hair. Al painted the same scenes over and over again, and I forgot which one was Hal's favorite. I went to sell the landscape on eBay, and who shows up to buy it? My old friend, Hal Humberger. We had a good laugh about it in the parking lot. I told him someone had traded it for payment on a job. When I opened the trunk to let him get a good look at the piece, he recognized it."
"And he started blabbing," I said.
"I had to shut him up." Bobby sighed. "Now what am I going to do with you?"
Jack must have caught a glimpse of the cop outside the door, because suddenly he began barking. I had to think fast. I looked down at his bowl.
"My dog is out of water. How about if I give him some? To shut him up.”
Poor Jack, I thought. First he gets tossed from a moving car and now he's watching his new owner get threatened with a box cutter. Therapy was definitely in order. If we lived that long.
"Make it fast," snarled Bobby. "You and I are going to take a little ride."
Detective Murray was out there, waiting. Right now, he couldn’t help me. Not with Bobby standing right next to me, and the cop being behind the door. Bobby was too close, and the box cutter was too sharp.
Moving slowly, I picked up Jack's water bowl.
"For cripes sake," said Bobby. "Hurry it up."
My dog growled.
Bobby glanced down at Jack.
That was all the distraction I needed. I tossed the water into Bobby's face. The box cutter hit the floor. Bobby made a lunge for it. When he went down, I grabbed the frying pan.
Then, for the second time in my life, I hit a man over the head with a cast-iron skillet.
Epilogue
The day of the Art Fair, it was standing room only at The Treasure Chest. In fact, the place was so crowded that I had difficulty moving around to greet all of our well-wishers. Philomena Humberger waved to me from across the sales floor. I simply had to speak to her, so I slipped past people lined up at the hors d'oeuvre table and made my way to her side.
"Thank you," she said. "You can't believe how much closure Bobby Gander's arrest brought me."
"I'm the one who owes you thanks," I said. "If you hadn't emailed to all your clients about my store, this place might be empty."
"I doubt it! Word has gotten around about the wonderful changes you'd made." Philomena leaned close to whisper, "The place looks amazing, and you look beautiful!"
“Thank you,” I said as I felt my face grow hot. Two days ago, MJ and Skye had insisted that we knock off early and go shopping. At their urging, I bought the dress I was now wearing, a rose sateen shirtwaist dress with a black patent leather belt. Around my neck was a strand of fake pearls. Matching earrings framed my face, and my hair was pulled up into a chignon. A pair of black patent leather pumps completed my ensemble. My total transformation would have pleased my mother greatly.
Even Tommy had given me two thumbs-up of approval. He had been holding the dog under his arm when I stepped out of the bedroom in my new dress. "Hey Jack, look at Mom! She's rocking it!"
"And you, my darling son, look very handsome yourself," I told him as we walked downstairs together. Jack's head bobbed this way and that, taking in the whole scene.
Now my son and my dog were busy socializing with our guests.
"Go! Mingle! Enjoy your moment in the sun," said Philomena, giving me a little push. Since that awful first meeting in her office, she'd proved herself to be a fantastic ally.
Detective Murray was talking with someone about the use of computers in corralling criminals. I smiled at the detective. He lifted his plastic cup of punch to me in a salute.
We were both relieved that Bobby Gander was in custody.
The Chief of Police had sent me a nice note:
Dear Ms. Delgatto,
Maybe we need to arm our department with frying pans. They seem to work pretty well for you!
Best wishes on your new venture—
Police Chief Aaron Reiss.
I scanned the crowd for Skye. She was working the cash register, happily ringing up one purchase after another. As onlookers paid close attention, MJ showed off our gallery of recently recovered Highwayman paintings. Their proud owner, Irving Feldman, maneuvered his wife, Evelyn, in her wheelchair. This was the first time in years that she was able to see all the landscapes her late mother-in-law had laboriously curated. After consulting an expert, I had doubled the price on every last painting. Since the story of their disappearance and recovery hit the local news, buyers had been calling like crazy. The Feldmans would be able to afford that experimental treatment for Evelyn and live a comfortable life.
The community service gang was in full force. Officer Dooley supervised the young men in their roles as attentive waiters, carrying trays with glasses of champagne, sparkling water, and wine. They'd walked into the store with chests puffed out in pride at their contribution to the fabulous décor.
Over the past week, MJ, Skye, and I had worked like fiends. I had painted and stenciled two more pieces of furniture. MJ had found a wonderful Florida side chair and had it re-upholstered. Skye continued to amaze both of us by coming up with unique displays of items she'd repurposed, upcycled, and recycled. The tin cans from Pumpernickel's had been transformed into luminaries that brightened our display window.
We had a hit on our hands. The minute our doors opened and people poured in, flashes went off on cell phones all around the sales floor. Folks took picture after picture of our wares. Although I wasn't thrilled about people photographing our great ideas, I'd decided generosity of spirit should prevail. I knew how much work had gone into each project. If people wanted to try to copy us, more power to them.
Poppy was chatting to a group of admiring females of a certain age. He acted happier than I could remember. The color in his face was good, and he looked sharp in his gray trousers and light blue knit shirt. We needed to have a long talk about Jodi, because so far, he'd managed to evade all my questions. I figured that after the Art Fair, when my attentions weren't divided, I'd pin him down for some much needed answers.
Everything was perfect until Cooper walked in with my sister on his arm.
***
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Kicked to the Curb
Book #2 in the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series
1
~Cara~
Mid-January
7:45 a.m. on Thursday
The Treasure Chest in downtown Stuart, Florida
“We’ve got a problem,” said Detective Lou Murray, of the Stuart Police Department. His bulk filled the threshold of the back door to my store, The Treasure Chest. With the bright sun behind him, I couldn’t see his expression, but the tone of his voice was ominous.
“What’s up, Lou?”
The big cop has gotten into the habit of dropping by most mornings. He claims this is part of an initiative to make police presence more visual in our picturesque downtown.
But I know better.
Lou is head over heels in love with Skye Blue, my friend and part-time employee. She’s also my tenant, renting one of the two apartments upstairs, while I live in the other, its mirror-image twin. I glanced over to see that Skye was busy in the sink, bonking around a couple of mugs and the water carafe for the coffee maker.
Drying her hands, Skye hugged me. “How’d you sleep?”
I did a so-so motion with my fingers.
“Cara? I need ten minutes of your time,” said Lou. As he spoke, he only glanced at me. He kept looking out the window of my back door.
“Right now? My dog needs to go outside, and I haven’t had my morning jolt of java. I am not fully human until I have my coffee.”
“Right now,” said Lou, firmly. “I need you to look at a car parked behind your grandfather’s gas station.”
“Let me guess. Today’s the day they start jackhammering that old pavement around the Gas E Bait, right? And the car is in the way? Just tow it,” I said. “That’ll teach the owner a lesson.”
“Not that simple.” Lou frowned as he ran a hand through his cropped hair.
2
~Cara~
“I’ll take Jack,” said Skye, reaching for my rescue pup and tucking the white Chihuahua under her arm. She, Lou, and I had made it to the back stoop when MJ Austin pulled up in her pink Cadillac.
“Morning,” said MJ. She is a full-time employee of The Treasure Chest, a real find because she used to work for the previous owner.
“Good morning,” I said to her. “Lou wants me to take a gander at the car parked behind Poppy’s gas station.”
“Shouldn’t be there,” said MJ.
“Right,” Lou muttered.
We had just crossed the alley that separates the parking spaces behind my store from the parking spaces behind the gas station when a truck pulled up, a black Ford F150. A tall man in an orange tee shirt stepped out of it. Sunlight glinted gold on his hair, a long surfer cut that brushed his collar. His eyes were a mystery behind his Wayfarer sunglasses. He glanced at us and then toward the parked Toyota.
“And you are?” Lou asked the newcomer.
“Jason Robbins. Project manager for Fill Up and Go corporate.”
“Detective Lou Murray and this is Cara Mia Delgatto,” said Lou, flashing his badge. Skye and MJ hung back a few paces.
“You’re exactly as your grandfather described you,” Jason said to me. He smelled of sandalwood and soap as he shook my hand.
“Cara, have you ever seen this car before?” Lou asked, as he used his hand to shade his eyes against the morning sun. “Take your time looking it over. But don’t touch it.”
I stared at a rusty Toyota with balding tires.
“Why don’t you just run the plates?” I wondered.
“Answer my question, please,” said Lou.
The vehicle looked familiar. I took two steps to the left, blinked in the glare of the sunlight, and looked closer. The giveaway was a dog-earred paper sign sitting in the back window. It said SHORELINE NEWS.
“I’m pretty sure that car belongs to Kathy Simmons. She’s a reporter for the Shoreline News. Her roommate has been calling the store for three days. She says Kathy’s been missing. Is that true?”
Lou didn’t answer my question. Instead, he frowned. “Anything else that helps you identify the owner?”
I moved even with the rear passenger door. A rotten breeze had kicked up from the ocean. A lot of dead fish must have rolled up with the tide.
Cupping my hands over my face to block out the bright light, I stared inside the car. A plastic food storage container rested on the back passenger seat. Next to it was a white shopping bag.
"That's definitely one of my new shopping bags," I called over my shoulder to Lou. Skye and MJ stood a few feet away from him. MJ had her arms crossed over her chest. Skye was shuffling her feet. Neither looked happy.
I continued, "Kathy bought a picture from me the night of our media event. I put her purchase inside a bag like that one. MJ packed up leftovers for Kathy to take home. The container looked like the one on the seat. It was late at night and raining when I walked Kathy to her car, so I didn’t get a really good look, but I’m almost positive this is her vehicle.”
“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” said Lou, and his frown deepened. “Four days ago, Kathy Simmons attended your media event.”
“Right. We invited all members of the local media to come and preview our Old Florida Photo Gallery exhibit. Served them food. Gave them press packets. Let them wander around the store. Answered their questions. Kathy Simmons came on behalf of the Shoreline News. Her editor came too, but he left early.”
“Had you ever met her before?”
“No.”
“Tell me about the event,” said Lou.
“It started at seven in the evening and ended at eight. A dozen reporters came. I gave a little spiel about our mission to recycle things and be creative with found objects. I showed them old black and white photos we’d framed and mounted in refurbished frames. The three of us—MJ, Skye, and I—played hostess.”
“What was Kathy Simmons wearing?”
That was easy. “A weird vinyl raincoat printed like newspapers. Oh, and a headscarf. Before we went outside, she pulled the scarf out of her pocket to cover her hair. It was raining on Monday night.”
“What else can you tell me?” he asked in a serious tone. “What happened immediately before you two walked to her car?”
“What do you mean?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“Is it true there was an altercation?”
“W-w-what? How do you know that?” My mouth went dry.
Skye was studying the pavement. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Let me summarize,” said Lou. “You had an event for reporters. Kathy Simmons came. You two had words. You walked her to her car—and now she’s been missing for three days. Is that right? Today her car shows up in a space behind your grandfather’s gas station.”
“U-u-uh,” I stuttered, trying to think of what to say.
Skye shook her head sadly. She mouthed one word at me, “Sorry.”
MJ rolled her eyes. “Cara, quit answering his questions and call a lawyer.”
“Y-y-you can’t seriously be suggesting that I had anything to do with Kathy’s disappearance!” I looked from Lou to the Toyota and back to him. “You’ve found her car. She has to be around here somewhere.”
“Maybe,” said Lou.
Jason crossed his arms over his chest and studied me solemnly.
“Ladies, go back to your store,” said Lou. “Cara, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Why? First you drag me out here. Then you accuse me. Now you want me to go inside and wait? I am not your puppet, Lou.”
There it was, the terrible temper that’s gotten me in trouble my whole life. I should have turned around and left Lou to it. But after the grilling he’d given me, the last thing
I wanted was to follow his suggestion.
Lou reached inside the pocket of his navy blue blazer for a pair of latex gloves. “Have it your way.”
The detective moved closer to the trunk. The top was slightly ajar; the locking mechanism hadn’t caught.
Pulling an ink pen from his pocket, Lou tucked it under the hood of the trunk and lifted. It opened with a squeal of surrender. A foul stench rolled out.
Involuntarily, Lou took a step backwards. When he moved, I could see inside the trunk.
Kathy Simmons stared at me with dull, dead eyes.
3
~Cara~
Four days earlier
7 p.m. on Monday
The Treasure Chest
“Ladies and gentlemen of the media, welcome. I’m Cara Mia Delgatto, owner of The Treasure Chest. Without further ado, may I present to you this evening’s star attraction, our Old Florida Photo Gallery,” I said.
Skye tugged aside a blue velvet curtain to reveal a floor-to-ceiling display. Forty-three framed photos, images of Florida from years gone by.
I paused, both for effect and to judge the response as the reporters perused the pictures.
To my surprise, they burst into applause. One even said loudly, “Well done!” All of our guests seemed absolutely delighted by what they saw.
My exhale reminded me that I tend to hold my breath when I’m nervous. At last I could relax…a little.
Out of fifteen invitations we’d tendered, a dozen reporters and a couple editors had shown up. However, two of the missing people had called us for more information. Getting media buy-in was critical for generating the type of attention I hoped this photo gallery would produce. We’d had a great holiday season here at The Treasure Chest. Now it was my job as owner to come up with ideas to keep people walking through our doors and buying our merchandise, a unique blend of upcycled, recycled, and repurposed items.
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 92
