by N. C. Lewis
"Are you sure?" Amy said, pouring out three cups and placing one in front of Zach and the other in front of Victoria.
Zach glanced up, his eyes glazed over. "The chief executive officer called at lunchtime. I'm afraid so." He made a sound that could have been a sob and abruptly gulped his coffee.
Nick could contain his curiosity no longer. "What's going on?" he said, striding into the kitchen.
"Oh darling," replied Amy glancing at him without surprise. "Sit down. I'll pour you a coffee. I've just brewed a fresh pot."
Nick picked up the stress in Amy's voice. Married for twenty-two years, there was no doubt in his mind that something had upset her. He locked eyes with his wife in a silent stare that seemed to go on for a long time. Then he turned to Victoria and Zach. "Okay, spill the beans."
Victoria continued staring down into her coffee cup for about ten seconds, then raised tearful eyes. "Dad, it's that—" she said with a sob. Then, looking shaken, she stood up and rushed from the kitchen. Amy followed close behind.
An explosive clap of thunder shook the house. Without warning the lights went out. Momentarily, the darkness seemed to make everything disappear, and for an instant everything was still. Then the drumming of the rain against the kitchen window grew louder. The lights flickered back on.
"It's my new company," Zach said staring into his coffee. He stood up and paced for a moment. Then he looked at Nick, stared at his trembling hands. His shoulders drooped. "I spoke with the chief executive officer this afternoon. The latest round of tests on our new blood sugar monitoring product have come back negative."
"Negative?"
"An extensive clinical trial has shown the device to be… unreliable."
Nick jerked his head up, staring hard at Zach. "Unreliable… from one clinical trial?"
"It was a large trial. Other trials were scheduled, but our largest investor pulled the plug after the results. The company has suspended all future research on the product. And…"
"And what?"
"The company stock price—"
"It's fallen?" interrupted Nick, getting the picture.
Amy returned to the kitchen, her arm wrapped around Victoria's shoulder. After she settled her daughter at the table and refilled her own coffee, Zach continued in a thin, shaky voice. "The stock exchange has suspended the company's listing. So, technically the shares have no value." He glanced up, eyes glistening with distress. "Victoria and I have lost… everything!"
Nick sat frozen to the spot, thinking hard of something positive to say, but words failed him. There was nothing he could say or do to make things right. He reached for his coffee, shaking his head, and took a long, thoughtful gulp.
Another crack of thunder rolled across the sky. It roared like a freight train sending deep, angry sound waves reverberating throughout the house. Nick glanced at the kitchen window as a brief flash of lightning illuminated the darkened sky. "Is there anything that can be done?"
"No," Zach mumbled, then he let out a gut-wrenching wail. "How will I break the news to Ruby and Noel that their savings are gone?"
Chapter 19
It was after midnight when Nick and Amy sat in the half dark on the end of their bed, holding hands like teenagers, and watching the lightning send jagged streaks across an inky-black sky.
"Noel's taking it well," Nick said with a weary sigh. "Much better than expected. I guess he's experienced so many downs recently that another isn't so traumatic."
Amy agreed. "When he lost his job at Battles Equity Partners I feared for his sanity and their marriage, but things have improved since then. I hope this is not too hard a setback for their relationship."
"What about Ruby? How do you think she's taking it?" Nick knew the news shook his daughter. She'd been a homemaker since marrying Noel. Now, with no money, she'd have to go back to work.
"I'm not sure," Amy said with a sigh. "Ruby was always the dramatic one. You remember when those peacocks chased her? She insisted there were fifty. We counted five."
Nick let out a frustrated laugh. "No dramatics, no fireworks, not even an angry shout from Ruby." He turned to look at his wife. "Maybe she's maturing."
Amy shook her head slowly. "I'm not sure, that's why I gave her the sleeping pills. At least she'll get a good night's rest. Things might seem a little different in the morning." She wasn't sure why, but after a good night sleep things always seemed a little better. "And then there's the news."
Nick wasn't certain he wanted any more news today. The murder in the museum, the run-in with the lieutenant, and the crash of the blood-sugar-monitoring stock was enough for one twenty-four-hour period. "Hell!" he muttered with irritation. "Today's been enough for an entire year. What news?"
Amy's eyes twinkled in the half-light of the bedroom. "Victoria is pregnant! Zach is going to be a father, and we're going to be grandparents."
Nick reached out, pulling his wife close. In the dim light of the room they held each other tight as the storm continued to rage with booming thuds of thunder, brilliant flashes of lightning, and rain crashing hard against the bedroom window.
"That news deserves a celebration," Nick said at last, uncertain at how he felt at being a grandfather.
"What've you got in mind?" Amy said with a giggle. "Victoria won't want a fuss, at least not until after the baby is born."
"Okay, then we'll celebrate on our own."
"How?"
"A trip to London. Zach and Victoria will fly back to England in a couple of weeks; let's visit them."
The couple fell into silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts about the new baby and their upcoming trip to London. Amy thought about shopping in London's department stores and redecorating the spare bedroom as a nursery for when their grandchild visited. Nick wondered how he'd swing the time off work, and whether his grandchild would be a boy or girl. He liked the idea of twins, one of each, but didn't think that would go down well with Victoria.
It was as another bolt of lightning illuminated the bedroom that Amy turned to Nick. "And what about you?"
"Me?"
"You came home early this afternoon. Something happened at work?"
Nick had pushed his concerns to the back of his mind. They seemed so petty and inconsequential compared to the deep financial woes that now beset Ruby and Victoria. "I was ordered to take the rest of the day off by the lieutenant."
Amy sighed. That had only happened once to Nick, early in his career, when he had spoken out of line to a senior officer. He learned after that to leave his emotions at the door, use his intelligence to get what he wanted. "What happened?" she asked, knowing it wouldn't be good.
"Floyd Adams," he said, standing up and walking over to the window.
Amy hadn't had time to think about Floyd Adams. Now it all came back in a sickening wave of ghastly images—the anxious cry of Noel, the bloodstained desk, and the stiff and bloated body that was once Floyd Adams. She dismissed the images from her mind, focused on Nick. "Let me guess, something to do with Dr. Jeffery Stubbs?"
"And the fact Lieutenant Kostopoulos thought I was on duty in the lollipop liaison unit, not interrogating one of Austin's wealthy elite. The lieutenant chewed my hide, told me to keep away from Dr. Jeffery Stubbs. I'm not going to argue with him on that one."
"So, Mary Wilson is working it alone?" Amy asked barely able to contain her surprise.
"That and half a dozen others."
Amy's brow furrowed. "That's odd. Then Floyd's murder may never be solved."
"Mary's a great detective."
"I know. You trained her yourself, but there is only so much one detective can do. You always say solving crime is a team sport."
"Mary can do the work of three average detectives." Then he remembered the lieutenant's comment that federal agencies might be working the investigation, but didn't mention it.
"Nick, she already is!" Amy stood up and walked around her side of the bed. "Mary and I chatted at the museum."
Nick placed a hand on
his cheek. "Really?"
Amy plumped up a pillow. "She's thinking about quitting the police department."
That caught Nick by surprise. He sensed Mary was unhappy. He hadn't realized how unhappy. There were too few good detectives in the Austin Police Department; they couldn't afford to lose a person of Mary Wilson's caliber. He decided to take her out for lunch, catch up, see what she knew about the federal investigation.
Amy turned to her husband. "Nick, honey, you must help Mary solve Floyd Adams' murder."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I've been ordered to stay away from the case."
"By who?"
"The chief."
Chapter 20
It was six a.m. the following morning when Nick and Amy sat around the kitchen table each nursing a steaming mug of black coffee and peering into their electronic devices. The previous evening's storm had passed, the house quiet, but had been a fretful night, and neither had slept well.
"I've got a text message from Miles Block," Amy said looking across the table at her husband.
"What's it say?" Nick grunted, only half listening, scrolling through his emails.
"Miles is inviting me to lunch with Edwina Lutz."
That got Nick's attention. "The Edwina Lutz? The artist?"
Amy squinted at the screen. "Yes, along with Dr. Stubbs and two other members of the museum board whose names I don't recognize—Dr. Hale and Dr. Livingston. Probably crusty, old men in dusty pinstripe suits with chauvinistic attitudes."
"It sounds like fun!" Nick replied yawning.
"Oh no!" Amy cried, looking up. "It's lunchtime today at the Bellowing Spoon restaurant on Congress Avenue! Danielle won't be able to join me; she is in Houston with her husband, Stan."
"That's a shame," Nick said. "What about you? I know it's short notice, but are you going to go?"
Amy thought about that. She enjoyed Danielle's company. Business lunches seemed so much more exciting when she came along, and this lunch, full of clones of Dr. Stubbs, didn't appeal. "No, I don't think so," she replied, then changed her mind. "Yes… I think I will. It will give me the chance to find out more about Floyd Adams… and the person who created the stolen figurines. If Edwina Lutz is attending, it can't be that bad! Who knows, I might pick up some clues to help you with your investigation."
"I'm not on the case," Nick reminded her sourly. "With the chief blocking the way, and the lieutenant at his side, I don't think I ever will be."
But Amy wasn't listening, her eyes focused hard on her tablet screen. "Have you seen the news headlines?"
Nick craned his neck to look over her shoulder and read aloud. "Murder in the Sleepy Museum." He frowned.
Amy scrolled down. "Here's another." This time she read it out loud. "Docent Dead, Battle Figurines Gone." Then she looked up. "I thought the police department would keep the lid on things for a few days, enough time to get some momentum behind the investigation."
"That's the usual strategy," Nick said, rubbing his chin. "But the police department's got more leaks than a rusty colander. I guess a story this big was going to eventually bust out. The chief's going to be mad."
"Well they'd better get you on the case and a bunch of other detectives as well," Amy groused. "I bet when the media starts calling later today, the chief will throw resources at it."
"Media interest will help, but city hall pulls the purse strings," Nick said sourly. "Let's see how the local news channel is reporting it." He walked, mug in hand, to the small flat screen television that sat on the kitchen counter and turned it on.
The familiar figure of a local news reporter stood outside the Bullock Museum with an umbrella in his hand even though the rain had stopped.
The murder of a museum worker, and the theft of priceless figurines have left museum officials scratching their heads. Officials found Floyd Adams, a curator of historical figurines, shot to death in his office in the administrative wing of the Bullock Museum. Museum officials said, 'Mr. Adams was a well-respected member of the historical figurines community. Our thoughts and prayers go out to his wife and family.'
Insiders say someone gunned down Mr. Adams as he examined a new exhibit created by Texas painter Edwina Lutz. Her Portrayal of a Frenzied Day recently sold at auction for seven hundred sixty-five thousand dollars. Museum officials remain tight-lipped over the price paid for the missing figurines or the names of potential suspects, stating, 'They are part of an ongoing police investigation.'
With no arrests, no leads, a missing exhibit, and dozens of unsolved murders already on the books, the Austin Police Department have a steep hill to climb. This is Jack Skanky, reporting live for Austin City News Service.
Nick flipped off the television, took a long sip from his mug. Amy caught the look in his eyes and knew it wasn't a question of if he would get involved in the Floyd Adams murder case.
Chapter 21
Later that morning at police department headquarters Nick hunched over the Floyd Adams file, scowling.
"Where'd you get that?" Officer Chambers asked, staring over Nick's shoulder.
"Got my sources," replied Nick with a dry smile.
Officer Chambers considered his response carefully. If the Floyd Adams case interested Nick he'd get drawn into it. He didn't want that. Murder investigations involved work outside his comfortable nine-to-five routine. "Thought the lieutenant told you to stay away from the Floyd Adams case. We're supposed to stick to lollipop liaison duties."
"How'd you know that?" Nick asked, annoyed that details of his meeting with the lieutenant had leaked out.
Chambers hesitated, let out a deep sigh, reached a chubby hand into a paper bag and pulled out a donut the size of a lump of coal and about as black. "The lieutenant told me. He said if the chief finds out his lollipop team is poking around investigating murders, he'll get mad."
Nick's eyes flashed. "You going to tell the chief?"
Chambers gazed at the blackened object that passed as a donut and sniffed. He liked working with Nick, liked working in the lollipop unit, didn't want things to change. "Nope." He took a bite. "Anything jump out at you from the file?"
The file revealed little that Nick didn't know. Floyd Adams had been shot once between the eyes with a small-caliber handgun. The medical examiner put the time of death somewhere between four and ten p.m. According to the arrival's logbook, Floyd signed in a little before four p.m. The security cameras that monitored the administrative area were down for maintenance. Museum security guards noted nothing out of the ordinary.
Closing the file and laying it on the corner of his desk, Nick stood up and stretched. "Nothing in the photos. Nothing in the report. Nothing new."
Chambers, munching with unusual ferocity, pointed at the closed file. "What about the wife? If I was a detective I'd haul Mrs. Adams in, put pressure on her until she cracked. It's the quickest way to get a confession."
"Things don't work like that anymore," Nick replied, sitting back down. He tapped a finger on the file. "We want to catch the person who committed the crime, not the first person who confesses."
"If I was running things"—Chambers sniffed—"the case would be solved by lunchtime." He reached into the bag, pulled out another lump of coal. "The wife did it, you can take that to the bank and cash it!"
Nick leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. "Mrs. Adams has a rock-solid alibi."
"Really?"
"She had neighbors over to their home for dinner. The gathering didn't break up until after ten p.m. Floyd was dead by then."
Again, Chambers sniffed, this time at the blackened donut. "Maybe she slipped out unnoticed, killed her husband, and then returned to the party. I saw that in an episode of Columbo, only it involved a music conductor. Clever, though. Did Floyd Adams have any life insurance?"
Nick shook his head slowly. "The file doesn't say. I guess that's an item Detective Wilson will follow-up on. Even if his wife is set to receive a million dollars I don't think the
Columbo explanation is likely."
Chambers seemed genuinely interested. "Why?"
"Mrs. Adams was the host. The other families brought their kids. From the report, it's clear Mrs. Adams' children played with the neighbors' children all evening. I can't see her stepping away under those circumstances, can you?"
Chambers took a bite, munched hard, and grunted. "I'm telling you, this is the sorriest-looking thing I've ever seen."
"What?" Nick replied somewhat confused.
Chambers held up the blackened stump of his half-eaten doughnut. "Found a new donut hole called Deadhead Dough. It's run by a bunch of Goths on Brodie Lane."
"Goths?" Nick quizzed, thinking he'd misheard.
"You know, dressed all in black with pale faces and dark, made-up eyes. They sold me a six-pack of their Zombie donuts." His face crumpled into a disgruntled scowl. "These things taste like they've been dead and buried a long time. Need me some coffee to wash away the graveyard flavor… and a bite or two of real sugar-frosted dough. Do you want me to bring you back a coffee?"
"No thanks, drank a bucket this morning. Where are you going?"
"Dunkin' Donuts." Chambers waddled toward the door. "If it wasn't the wife, then Floyd Adams was a member of a figurine rustling gang. They probably turned on him, figuring he knew too much." It was a throwaway line, uttered on parting and over his shoulder as he walked through the door.
Chapter 22
Nick stared at the closed case file on his desk, reopened it and reread it. He checked everything in it, studied the photos, reread statements by museum security, and the accounts of the uniformed officers. Then he went back over it all again, word for word. It didn't get him very far.
