by Dana Mentink
Trinidad sought a way to break the news gently. “Um, she’s really not up for visitors, Vince.”
His brows knitted. “She didn’t want to add me?”
“I’m sorry. Like I said, she’s very worried right now. Depressed, I would say.”
“Aww, man. I wish there was something I could do. Are you sure she won’t see me? I could talk to her about how good things are going at Store Some More. The office is clean, and I’ve been writing down all the phone messages and keeping the birdbath filled.”
“I will tell her next time I go. Maybe she’ll change her mind about visitors.”
“Right,” he said brightening. “Tell her I’ve been trying to think of how to get her out of this murder rap.”
“You and me both.”
She led him to the porch where he stopped and pointed. “Looks like you got another box of mangoes.”
With a sigh, Trinidad picked up the package to add it to the others.
When it rains, it pours, she agreed. The feeling was cemented a moment later when she saw the chief’s car roll up. Figuring she might as well head things off at the pass, she offered the chief a seat at one of the shady porch tables. “I’ll be right there, okay?”
The chief didn’t answer, merely sat down, fingers interlaced on the tabletop. Not an uber friendly posture. Time to apply some sugar to temper the bitter medicine she felt sure was coming. She served up a bowl of the canary yellow sorbet.
The chief raised an eyebrow. “Are you hoping to make me forget you busted into the theater?”
“I didn’t bust, and yes. Is it working?”
“No,” said the chief, allowing a smile, “but that looks refreshing enough to sweeten my mood.”
“The restorative power of ice cream, or sorbet, rather. It’s mango.”
“Exotic. Where’d you find mangoes around here?”
“I have a supplier, a very generous one. I’ve got key lime made also, but this one is right out of the machine.”
Bigley dug into the satiny smooth dessert and rolled her eyes. “Fantastic.”
“Thank you. Ripe fruit and the proper care and that’s all you need.”
The chief kept spooning until the sorbet was gone. “All right. I’m feeling better, but I am still more than annoyed to find you popping up in this investigation at every turn. You’re like a human-sized whack-a-mole.”
“I just want to clarify that I didn’t break in. I…”
“I heard all that, but someone else was trying to break in. I assume it wasn’t Warren, unless he was trying to throw suspicion off himself for stealing this fictional coin, if that was his intent. No prints. Whoever did it was careful.”
“It might have been Warren. I’m not sure. I don’t trust him.” She’d already told the chief about finding the flyer blowing about outside Warren’s van the day he was killed.
Bigley toyed with her spoon in thought. “I’ve been thinking. Warren could have taken something from Kevin’s and slipped it in the van, moved it later, and no one would have been the wiser.”
“Have you ever had trouble with him breaking the law before?”
She shook her head. “He’s always on the edge of bankruptcy. Tanya said he’s asked for his pay in advance in the past. Gambling.”
“With Kevin Heartly.”
The chief did not register surprise, which indicated she already knew. The flow of information definitely did not go both ways. “He’s got debt, let’s put it that way,” the chief said.
“Well, somebody besides me thought about that old candy machine and tried to break in. Or maybe there is something else of value stashed away there.”
“I went through the place personally, as did Officer Chang, not to mention Cora. There’s nothing there except a cash drawer with less than thirty bucks in it. To be safe, she is going to have motion-detector lights installed around the theater.”
“What about an alarm?”
“They don’t have the money for that. I’ll have my officers make more frequent rounds, but word has gotten out there was no priceless coin there. I think that’s the end of the nefarious treasure hunters.”
“None of this helps Juliette.”
Her look sharpened. “It’s not my job to help Juliette. I am looking for leads about the killer, and so far those leads all point back to her.”
“She…”
Bigley held up a palm. “Let’s not go down this road again. I know what you think. If you could give me something besides opinions and theories about phantom collectibles, that would be a different story. Otherwise, it’s going to come down to what Stan can do for her in the way of defense.”
“That could take months.”
“The wheels of justice grind slowly. You should know that, right? Being a former stenographer before you got into the ice cream biz, and what with your new paralegal gig.”
She fired a glance at the chief. Was she being needled? Ridiculed? “I didn’t know you kept tabs on my former careers.”
“Gabe and I are tight, you know. We still talk regularly, in spite of his current status. And, besides, cops generally look pretty closely at the person who is the first to find the body.”
The first to find the body…
She swallowed hard as the chief got to her feet.
“Thanks for the sorbet,” she said. “And stay out of trouble, huh?”
“Will you be keeping an eye on Warren? He has keys to the theater.”
“Not anymore. Cora has stripped him of those.”
“She doesn’t trust him.”
“If she did, they wouldn’t have needed that divorce.”
Trinidad gaped. Divorce? Warren and Cora had been married?
The chief smirked. “You didn’t know that? And here I thought you were a detective in addition to your other duties.”
Trinidad shook her head. “Obviously not a very good one.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. They don’t talk about it publicly too much. Cora was smart to leave him, but she paid a heavy price.” The chief raised an eyebrow. “Too bad she doesn’t have a priceless penny at the theater. She could definitely use one.”
Her thoughts churning as if they were in a blender, Trinidad grabbed the broom. Warren and Cora had been married, and he all but ruined her. Their relationship must be somewhat amicable in spite of all that. They both worked at the theater and lived practically next door to each other. It certainly was a juicy bit of information, but did it have anything to do with Kevin’s murder? Should she add Cora to the suspect list, too?
As she did a final sweep of the store, her stomach growled. When she could no longer resist her rising appetite, she put a mango in each pocket for a midnight snack, locked up, and let herself out only to find yet another box of Farhan’s fruit on the front porch. At this point, it hardly surprised her. Picking up the carton, she lugged it to her Pinto, since she was running out of space in the Shimmy and Shake Shop. There was a lovely scent of garlic and herbs in the air, mingled with the scent of ripe fruit.
Pizza. The fragrance made her mouth water. On impulse, she scooped up a handful of mangoes and hurried to Pizza Heaven. There were only a few tables set up inside with tiny battery powered candles flickering. It did not do much to enhance the Formica-topped tables and dark, paneled space. One wall was entirely papered with photos that had begun to yellow and curl at the edges.
Vince Jr. and his mother greeted her from the counter.
“Large combo for Candy Simon, deliver to her office,” Virginia said to her son. “Don’t forget the extra napkins or I’ll get a phone call again.” She slid the box into a red insulated container.
A large pizza, Trinidad thought. She must be entertaining again. Trinidad’s cheeks burned considering her previous ill-fated 911 call.
Vince nodded to her. “Hey, Miss Jones. Try the spin
ach and artichoke. It’s the best.” He sauntered out with the delivery.
Virginia smiled. Her long hair was braided into a coil and pinned on the back of her head. “It is a crowd favorite. How’s the shop coming along?”
“Slow and steady.” She plopped a handful of mangoes onto the counter. “Thought I’d share the wealth.”
“Well, isn’t that nice. Can I get a pizza started for you and maybe I can sit for a minute and thank you properly? Spinach and artichoke?”
“Sounds great.”
While she rang up the sale, Virginia admired the mangoes with as much enthusiasm as if she’d been given something more than a bunch of very ripe tropical fruit. When the pizza order was submitted and payment taken, she vanished into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she reappeared, perching on the chair with such energy that Trinidad envied her.
“Thank you so much for the mangoes. Vince Sr. doesn’t go in for much in the way of fruit except for the occasional banana, but I will enjoy them. Vance would, too, if he wasn’t knee-deep in med school.” She beamed. “I still can’t believe we’re going to have a doctor in the house, so to speak.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It wasn’t always an easy road. Vance got into some rough patches in high school. But he’s rallied, and now we couldn’t be prouder. He’s the only one in his high school class who went into medicine. Do you have children, Trinidad?” She colored. “Oh, well, I mean, I know you and Gabe split up.”
“It’s okay. No children. Only a sweet old dog.”
“Much easier than children.”
“So I’ve been told. I guess you’ve lived in Sprocket a long time, then?”
“Since we were married forty-two years ago. My father bought this place as a wedding gift to us. He painted the pizza slice on the front himself.”
Trinidad figured she had hit the jackpot in the chatty, longtime Sprocketerian pizza maker. “Was the theater here when you moved in?”
“That old eyesore? Yes, indeed, but Cora didn’t come on as manager until about ten years ago.” She lowered her voice. “She was married to Warren at the time, did you know that?”
“I only heard that recently, that something went wrong between them.”
“Money, that’s what. He can’t hold onto it because he’s a gambler. Spent all of his money and then started in on hers. Cora gave him the boot.”
“But they’re still friends.”
“Yes. He always said, when he hit the jackpot, he’d win her back, but Cora’s a tough lady. She’s not about to hand over the checkbook a second time.”
“Fool me once,” Trinidad said, thinking about how she’d be hard-pressed to trust another man after Gabe. Juliette had, and look where she had landed. Trinidad refocused on Virginia.
“I’ve been thinking about Warren recently,” Virginia said. “He did some work for us, planted a floral display in the front area outside our entrance doors.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“That’s because everything’s dead. Not his fault, though. Watering is Vince Jr.’s job, and he can’t be bothered to remember.” A hairy arm slid another pizza onto the receiving counter.
“That pizza’s for Warren,” Virginia said. “If we ever run out of pineapple and sausage, he’ll starve to death.”
While Virginia boxed up Trinidad’s pizza and the one for Warren, Trinidad perused the photos on the wall. One curled specimen caught her attention. It was a picture of Edward Lupin, a video camera on his shoulder. She peered closer. Could it be the same camera the twins had purchased from the flea market? He was aiming it at a small stained glass window.
“Where was this taken?” Trinidad asked.
Virginia squinted. “The side of our restaurant.” She pointed to a small window set high up in the dark wall. “There used to be a pretty stained glass panel there, which Lupin got into his head was some kind of artifact. He was always taking video of anything and everything, and that included our stained glass. Vince Jr. finally climbed up on a ladder and took photos to prove it had been made in New York in the 1970s. It broke during an earthquake last spring. At least it got a few folks in the restaurant who were curious about what Lupin was videotaping. That poor man was always believing he was right on the cusp of a major discovery. Sad, really. He was crestfallen when Vince showed him the window wasn’t worth all the fuss.”
She said something else, but Trinidad’s mind was elsewhere. Lupin was always videotaping with his old clunky camera. Videotaping. She remembered the bag of VHS tapes at the flea market the twins had described.
“Nothing too exciting. Old history stuff and home videos, looked like.”
The “what ifs” made her breath catch. What if Lupin had videotaped his supposed treasure, or even the contents of his storage unit? She checked her watch, almost five.
“What time does the flea market close?”
Virginia cocked her head, and Trinidad realized the question had been abrupt.
“I just remembered something I have to get today for the store,” she explained.
“Closes at five, I think.”
Trinidad took her pizza. She pressed on the door just as Vince Jr. pulled it open. She stumbled but caught herself.
“I forgot the napkins,” he said sheepishly.
Virginia sighed and grabbed a stack.
“If you’re headed back home, can you give me a lift to Candy’s, Miss Jones?” Vince said. “Faster than taking my bike, and I can walk back to the store.”
“Sorry, not headed that way. Thank you for the pizza,” Trinidad said.
“And thank you for the mangoes,” Virginia called. “Better run if you’re going to get to the flea market on time.”
Chapter Seventeen
She drove faster than she should have down Main and onto the quieter Fruitvale Road, which took her away from town. Just as she sighted the old airstrip, her cell phone rang. Pulling to the shoulder, she thumbed it on.
“Hey, Trinidad.”
Her pulse ticked up at Quinn’s cheerful baritone. She pictured his strong chin and the twinkle in his blue eyes. “We wanted to invite you to dinner. Mostly it’s…you know…a social thing to, you know, uh, thank you for taking care of Doug.”
A dinner invitation? She realized she was clutching the phone a little too tightly. “No need to thank me. Doug’s a friend…just like you are.” Did that sound weird? Might it have come out wrong?
Quinn didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve been told I add way too much spice to my cooking, but I will try to tone it down for you.”
For her? She was trying to think of what to say when he continued.
“And I’ve been digging up some info on Kevin I thought you might want to know. Maybe Stan would join us. What do you say?”
Stan, too? Was it a business meeting or a date? No, surely not a date. She was not ready for that, not anywhere close. But Stan might be there. “I…um…that’s so sweet, but I just bought a pizza.”
“Oh, sure,” he said, the disappointment clear in his voice.
She’d disappointed him, and, what’s more, she realized she would have very much liked to enjoy a meal with Quinn and his brother and Stan. Gabe’s betrayal had stripped her of confidence, but she wouldn’t allow the roots of the past take hold in the present. She cleared her throat. “But would you all like to join me for pizza? It’s way too much for me, and Papa is out for the evening. I may have some info of my own, but I have to stop by the flea market first. Meet me at the tiny house?” She bit her lip, but he didn’t hesitate.
“Super,” he said, the warmth back in his voice. “I’ll bring a salad and something for Doug. He doesn’t eat messy foods. I’ll give Stan a call, too. Meet you at your place in an hour?”
“Deal.”
Her spirit swelled. Not a date, just a meal with her Sprocket friends. What better way
to end the day? Hopping out, she found the flea market gate closed and padlocked. “Oh, man.”
“Gotta come back tomorrow.”
She whirled to see Sonny Petrakis standing there, hands in the pockets of his painter’s overalls. For the first time, she noticed how tall he was, how muscled his forearms.
“Oh, well, I’ll do that. Thanks.”
He moved between her and her car. Her heart beat faster. “Excuse me. I need to go now.”
“You’re always in such a hurry. That’s not how we do things in Sprocket.”
Her nerves quivered. Somehow, she tipped her chin up and looked him full in the face. “Get out of my way, Sonny.”
“Just a quick question first. Why were you spying on us at Candy’s office the other day? I saw you out there. Not too sly.”
“I wasn’t spying. I was walking my dog.”
“You called the cops.”
“I thought… I misunderstood. It looked like you were hurting her.”
“That was none of your business.”
Trinidad fingered the phone in her pocket. “It was if she was being hurt.”
“I wasn’t hurting her.” His eyes were hard, flat stones. “I love her. We are going to get engaged soon.”
“My mistake. Congratulations to you both.” She tried to edge around him, but he did not move.
“Did you find out anything about those photos that got taken from Quinn? A picture of some valuables or something?”
“How did you know about the photos?”
“You can’t keep anything a secret in this town. So?”
“Why are you asking?”
His mouth twitched. “Because I bought that storage unit. Whatever was in it, if there was something worth money, it’s mine.”
“Not if you released the items to the flea market and someone else purchased it. You signed a contract, didn’t you? Once you handed the items over, they aren’t yours anymore.”
He glowered. “Is that why you’re here snooping around now? Do you know something about Lupin’s treasure?”
