Sleuthing for the Weekend

by Jennifer L. Hart

  So, the killer enters the office with Lois, slashes her throat from behind, and then climbs up on the furniture, moves a panel, and exits by way of the ceiling. A perfect escape route, at least in theory.

  Also a great place to stash bloody clothes. Maybe even the murder weapon. No doubt about it, I needed to have a peek.

  "Just what do you think you are you doing?"

  * * *

  I jumped at the voice, my hands going out to catch myself on the upper edge of the stall so I didn't fall into the toilet. Excuses tumbled through my head before I realized who'd caught me in the act. "Mom? What are you doing here? Did you not get the memo that a woman was murdered here not even forty-eight hours ago?"

  "People are murdered everywhere. Have been since time began. This city is over two centuries old. If I avoided all crime scenes, I'd never leave the house." Hands on hips, Agnes Taylor surveyed me. Her lips thinned in disapproval. "Besides, I asked you first. Are you standing on a public toilet for any particular reason?"

  "Yes," I grunted and returned my attention to the gaping hole in the ceiling.

  "Agnes?" The door opened again, and Nona poked her head around the corner. "Thought I heard you talking to someone. Oh, hey, doll. You looking for the booty?"

  "Not exactly." I fiddled with the latch on my purse. If I could get to my phone, I could use the recording app to see if there was anything hidden in the ceiling.

  "I thought you were taking Mac to the Sugar Ball," my mother said.

  "I did."

  "Why are your shoes on the floor?" Nona frowned.

  "Ladies?" This time Len poked his liver-spotted head through the door. "Is everything all right?"

  "Great, the gang's all here," I grumbled.

  "Mackenzie's here looking for the treasure, too," Nona informed him. "You better keep lookout, sweet cheeks. We wouldn't want to tip anyone off to our find."

  "It's a public lavatory. How am I supposed to keep people out?"

  "Tell them there's a water leak." Agnes shoved him back through the door. "Or that someone's sick, and it might be Ebola."

  "Norovirus," I interjected. "Like people get on cruise ships. We just want to dissuade them from coming in, not have the CDC swoop down on us like a ton of bricks."

  "Yeah, because they'd keep all the treasure for the government," Nona huffed.

  I didn't bother to correct her as to what I was looking for. Fumbling with the phone, I thumbed the record button and then stood on my tiptoes and held the device aloft like a torch. I did a slow hundred-and-eighty-degree turn on the toilet seat, careful not to step between the rim, before bringing the phone back down and pausing the recording.

  "Come down from there. You look ridiculous." My mother scowled up at me, her hands on her hips. Both she and Nona were dressed in black stretch pants and black hoodies. Nona even had a little black kerchief wrapped over her head, looking more like a fresh-off-the-boat Yenta.

  "Sticks and stones, Mother." Even still, I had no desire to spend any more time on the commode and scrambled down. I held the phone down so that everyone could see the screen before pushing Play on my newest recording.

  "Oh, poop. No treasure." Nona was the first to turn away. "We're running out of places to look."

  Agnes patted her on the arm. "It was a long shot anyhow. Like winning the lottery. Can you think of anywhere else we can look, Mackenzie? Mackenzie? Are you even listening to me?"

  Slowly I shook my head, my attention riveted on the phone. "There's something up there."

  "What is it?" Nona asked.

  "Could it be the treasure?" Agnes's eyes glittered with excitement.

  "I don't think so." On the recording it was no more than a heaped dark shape several meters away. There were no lights in the space, but there'd been enough of a distinction to make out the bumpy object. Perfectly sized for a trash bag full of bloody clothes, the murder weapon, or any other secrets a killer might want to hide.

  "What's happening?" Len rapped his knuckles on the door. "There's quite a line forming out here, ladies."

  Nona yanked it open, and the lawyer almost fell into the room. "Stall 'em. Mackenzie thinks she's found something."

  Something that maybe the police had missed. According to Hunter, the detective in charge of Lois's murder case had been pretty green. They hadn't searched the dumpster and apparently had been talked into taping off just Daniel O'Flannigan's office instead of keeping The Shipping Lane sealed off. Was it possible he or she had overlooked this gift of a hidey-hole? I stowed the phone back in my trench coat pocket. "I need to get up there."

  "What?" Agnes shook her head. "Absolutely not. You aren't dressed properly to go rooting through the musty ceiling."

  "It's not my wardrobe I'm concerned about. It's my weight."

  "Well, what do you expect with your diet full of processed carbohydrates?"

  I glared at her. "I mean, I'm worried the ceiling isn't sturdy enough to support a grown person's perfectly adequate weight."

  She sniffed. "Mac would be a better choice. She's dainty, takes after my side of the family."

  "Mac's not here." Thank Java for small mercies.

  "You could go, Agnes," Nona piped up. "You're a little bit of a thing."

  "No way." I shook my head while visions of my mother plunging down through the ceiling and breaking her leg, her back, or even her neck filled my mind. "It's not safe."

  She scowled at me as though I was speaking nonsense. "Oh, so it's safe enough for you but not for me?"

  "That's not what I—"

  But Agnes scrambled up to take my former spot on top of the toilet lid. "Give me a boost will you, Mackenzie?"

  "Mom, I don't think—"

  She wasn't interested in hearing what I thought. "Do you want to see what's up there or not? Now, the sooner you boost me up, the sooner we can get whatever it is and get out of here."

  My molars ground together. "Fine, but so help me if you fall to your death, I'm going to pack on fifty pounds of coffee cake just to spite you."

  She rolled her eyes at me. "You're only hurting yourself, you know."

  I gripped her by her bony backside and heaved upward. "More cushion for the pushin'."

  Agnes's head and shoulders disappeared up inside the ceiling. I stood still. Her feet were planted on my shoulders, sweat sliding between my breasts. I was ready to catch her if she lost her grip or, worse, if the ceiling crumbled. We were like a mother-daughter acrobat team. "Can you reach it?"

  "I can't even see whatever it is."

  "Oh, quit your kvetching." Not to be left out, Nona stood by my side, holding on to me with one arm.

  If I could get the flashlight app up on my phone, it might help her see what she needed to see. Problem was, I didn't want to release the grip I had on her ankles. "Nona, can you reach my phone? It's in my trench coat pocket."

  "This is so exciting." Nona fished around in my pocket and then held the phone in front of my face so I could activate the flashlight with my nose.

  "That's one word for it," I huffed as the light flicked on, shining right in my face. "Gah! Pass it up to Mom."

  Nona stood on her tiptoes, bracing her not so insubstantial self against me until it felt like I was supporting all three of us. "Do you see it, Agnes?"

  "No." A pause and then an excited: "Yes! There!"

  It was at that moment that Len pushed inside the ladies' restroom and flung his arms out to either side of the door to brace it.

  "Code red." The gnarled old solicitor's eyes were wider than I'd ever seen. "Daniel O'Flannigan just showed up."

  "Agnes, give it up!" I hissed. "He knows who I am."

  And he'd probably call the police if he found me in here.

  Mom stood on her tiptoes, body straining. "I've almost got it."

  From outside the restroom, a male voice called, "What's going on in there? Sir? I saw you go in there, and that is not acceptable."

  Len leaned harder against the door as the knob rattled. His expression clearly
read now what am I supposed to do?

  The handle rattled. "This is management. Open this door, or we'll call the police."

  "Be right out," Nona called. "My friend is having backdoor issues."

  Words I could never unhear.

  Luckily Agnes was buried too deeply in the ceiling to hear. The pounding and doorknob rattling continued. Nona abandoned my side abruptly, making me stagger a step just as Mom got one knee up into the ceiling. The only thing remaining was her delicate sneaker-clad foot sticking out of the hole. Then, that too disappeared, as though the ceiling had sucked her up like a spaghetti strand. A second later, there was the sound of something being dragged across the ceiling. I leapt back half a heartbeat before it thudded to the ground.

  "Go," Nona hissed at me from over by the window she'd opened for me. "Take it and go. It might be a clue, and we don't want O'Flannigan to know we found it."

  "What about Mom? I'm the only one tall enough to help her down." I glanced up and was shocked to see my mother sliding the tile back into place. My mother was intentionally shutting herself up in the ceiling.

  "We'll meet you at the office," Len vowed. "Take it and run."

  Snatching up the dusty trash bag and my shoes, I surveyed their faces once and went.

  "They'll be fine," I told myself as I ran down the alley. "They didn't do anything wrong."

  My subconscious wasn't buying the malarkey. Instead, she was flapping around inside my head, chanting, Your mother is trapped in the ceiling! A woman died in that building this week! What the hell are you going to do now?

  Once in the car, I turned the engine over then threw Helga into reverse. Her tires squealed as I backed out of the church parking lot. Instead of heading for home or for Len's office, I circled the block, waiting for any sign of my accomplices.

  Not that they were accomplices, since technically speaking, we didn't do anything illegal. Just sketchy as all get-out.

  On the seat beside me, the mysterious trash bag my mother retrieved from the ceiling sat slowly driving me mad—my own personal telltale heart. I wanted to open it and dump the contents out but was afraid to look. At least until I knew the others got out without a problem.

  Anything could be in there. Cleaning supplies, old menus, dirty pictures, money.

  Maybe the lost O'Flannigan treasure.

  Or the evidence to catch Lois's killer.

  I couldn't even text Agnes or Nona, since the former still had my cell. My thumbs drummed nervously on Helga's wheel as I cruised past the front door of the pub again. Still nothing. Damn it, this wasn't right. I should go back in there. I could lock the bag in the trunk and stroll through the front door. Say I misplaced my phone. They didn't need to know my mother was misplaced with it in their HVAC system.

  I was just about to double park and leap from the vehicle when I saw Agnes push through the front door. Though she was in profile, I'd have known that determined chin lift anywhere. She was disheveled, her hair was caked with dust and grime, and she was limping slightly. Someone was right behind her—a man. Daniel O'Flannigan, and he was gesturing wildly. Pointing at her and then up at the cloudy night sky.

  I wanted to help her, to distract him. But if Daniel was the man who'd threatened me earlier that night, it was safer for Agnes if he didn't know about our connection. She whirled on him and stalked forward.

  He drew back as if her sudden motion threw him off balance. She fisted one hand on her hip, the other curled up except for her index finger, which she used to poke him in the chest.

  Mother, back off. My mental telepathy didn't work though because she poked him again. I cracked a window just in time to hear her end with, "…be lucky if I don't sue. I came here with my lawyer," and then she stalked away, head going from side to side, probably looking for Len's Caddy.

  Daniel O'Flannigan's mouth opened then closed a couple of times. He looked like a fish underwater. After a minute he turned back toward the building.

  In my rearview, a pair of high beams snapped on. I squinted and ducked down, trying to clear my vision, and heard the engine roar to life. The car behind me swerved around, almost sheering off Helga's passenger side mirror. The vehicle roared past, too fast for me to see the driver.

  But I did see it plow into Daniel O'Flannigan at top speed, see his body bounce up over the hood and then land in a heap on the wet pavement as the car careened around out of view, never once touching its brakes.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Darkness brings out the oddest things in people. Not to mention the oddest people." From The Working Man's Guide to Sleuthing for a Living, an unpublished manuscript by Albert Taylor, PI

  For the second time that night, I abandoned my car in the middle of the street and ran for the crumpled body. "Call 9-1-1!" I shouted to the astonished pub patrons who were gawking from the front door.

  "Mackenzie!" My mother's eyes were wide. She'd only made it about ten feet from where Daniel had been hit. "Don't move him. He could have a broken neck."

  I recoiled from where I'd been about to turn him over. "I don't even know if he's alive."

  She lowered beside me and placed one hand on Daniel's neck. "He has a pulse." Her hand moved to the immediate area in front of his nose and mouth. "And he's breathing."

  "But unconscious," I felt the need to point out.

  A siren sounded in the distance, followed by another, the discordant notes drawing closer.

  "Did you see that?" My mother's eyes are on Daniel's face. "The driver didn't even try to slow down."

  "It was hard to miss." I swallowed the fear at how close she'd been to being run over as well.

  A crowd had started to gather around us, people murmuring. I saw Len's liver-spotted head and heard his soft drawl ask, "Did anyone get the license plate?"

  "It happened too fast," a woman said.

  "Hit-and-run. What's this world coming to?" Nona shook her head.

  My hands shook, and my vision started to tunnel. I looked over to my mother. She was stroking Daniel's hair, murmuring to him in a voice too low for me to hear.

  The EMTs arrived. "What happened?"

  "A car hit him," Agnes said. "The driver didn't stop."

  The driver aimed. In my mind's eye, I replayed the way the car had jerked abruptly around Helga and sped up. Daniel hadn't had time to react, to run, or even scream.

  "We haven't moved him, and he doesn't appear to be bleeding," my mother continued, as though she talked to emergency medical personnel every day. "Pulse is steady and strong. He's a fighter."

  The medics took over. On a side street, blue lights indicated that the police had arrived on the scene. One cop began clearing space while the other questioned the onlookers.

  "Does anyone know him?" one of the cops asked.

  I gave his name and then added, "This is his bar."

  Agnes had moved back, clearing space for the professionals to work. I gripped her hand, more to have something to hold on to than to help her off the ground. She looked surprised when I didn't let go, but she gave my sweaty palm a reassuring squeeze. Together we watched as Daniel O'Flannigan was loaded first onto a gurney and then into an ambulance.

  "Any idea who his emergency contact might be?" the officer, not one I recognized, asked.

  "His brother," I responded without thought. "Michael O'Flannigan."

  "I'll get in touch with him," Len volunteered. We exchanged a look. With any luck, Michael O'Flannigan would be up to his armpits in bar food and cheap beer across town, not looking for a place to stash a vehicle with a dent roughly the size and shape of his baby brother.

  "What's your relationship to the victim?" The beat cop had clearly picked me out as a fount of information, and I wanted to know why, since I hadn't gotten into the back of the ambulance with him.

  "I've been investigating him." At his raised eyebrows, I pointed to Len. "I'm a PI. That's Michael O'Flannigan's lawyer."

  The cop, winter pasty already, seemed to pale several shades. He cleared his throat. "Your
name?"

  I gave it to him, along with my phone number and address. "I'd give you a card, but I don't have any on me."

  "No problem." He flipped his notebook closed and found something pressing to do on the other end of the crowd.

  "Well, what was that?" Agnes asked in a huff. "He didn't ask me any questions. I was closer than you were."

  I turned to her. "Are you actually jealous?"

  Agnes frowned over at me and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't be ridiculous. I just had a better view is all."

  "Did you get the make and model of the car?" I asked.

  "It was a small car, smaller than yours. Dark color, either blue or black."

  That was about all I'd picked up too. "How about the driver? Any inkling on whether it was a man or woman? Age range? Ethnicity?"

  She shook her head.

  Len appeared at my elbow. "Well, the good news for us is that Michael O'Flannigan has over one hundred witnesses to vouch that he's in his pub at this very moment."

  "Michael O'Flannigan, from the paper?" Agnes frowned up at me.

  "That's the guy."

  Her scowl grew darker, and she pointed to where the ambulance was pulling away. "Wait a minute. That's Michael O'Flannigan's younger brother? Is that why you were here? To investigate him?"

  "He hired me, Agnes." Len tucked her arm into the crook of his. "Mackenzie was just gathering a little background at Lois's place of business."

  "Reg knew a Michael O'Flannigan. They served together. He bought a car off Michael at one point. A real lemon. I wonder if it's the same man?"

  I couldn't answer, couldn't get air into my lungs. Talk of the Captain and cars reminded me of the black hatchback I'd seen parked on the street in front of O'Flannigan's both the day Lois had died and tonight, when I'd shouted at him in the rain.