A Fatal Four-Pack

by P. B. Ryan

  Rhonda and Blake both looked at me with concern.

  “Would he what?” Jeremy asked.

  Rhonda took Jeremy by the hand and led him toward the Rose. “I bet you like ice cream.”

  Blake pushed me back against the building, out of the way of people leaving the bandstand area. “What are you babbling about?”

  Struggling to get a grip, I explained everything again. “Kiska is shedding.”

  Blake nodded.

  “Darrell has dog hair all over his suit, but he just told me he doesn’t have a dog.”

  Blake folded his arms over his chest and lifted one eyebrow.

  “Darrell’s missing his pocket square, and this morning I found one, or something that could have been one, by Kiska’s bed. It was a little chewed up, but it could’ve been a pocket square.” Under Blake’s confused stare, I started to calm a bit.

  I was being silly. I’d panicked for no reason. I’d known Darrell since I moved to Helena four years earlier. He wouldn’t break into my store, and he certainly wouldn’t kill anyone. No, there was another explanation. I looked at Blake hoping he would supply one.

  “What are you saying? Do you think Darrell broke into your shop? Why?”

  “No, no, I don’t think that. That’s just ridiculous. He’s just been around a dog that’s all. Kiska isn’t the only dog that’s shedding in Helena. No, forget it. Darrell had no reason to break into Dusty Deals.”

  Except maybe the note. But he didn’t know about that. But he did know I was going to the jazz festival. And the weasel. He knew I had the weasel. Was that important?

  Blake watched me with an unreadable expression.

  I laughed. “I’m just edgy. Didn’t sleep well last night. Really. Forget I said anything.”

  “Did Darrell know you weren’t going to be at your shop?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I ran into him earlier yesterday and mentioned I was going to the festival. Then Rhonda and I saw him at the Gulch venue.”

  “Is there any reason he’d have to break into your shop?”

  “No, see there isn’t. Forget it, really.” This was embarrassing. I’d accused someone I respected of sneaking around in the dark and busting in my backdoor. I wasn’t going to add to the insult by mentioning the note or weasel. Darrell didn’t know about the first and had no interest in the second, or he’d have bought it at the auction.

  “What about this pocket square you mentioned? You still have it?”

  I nodded. I’d have to dig it out of the trash, but I still had it.

  “I’ll stop by your store and get it. It might tell us something. But I have to agree about the hair. That isn’t much of a clue. There’s almost as many dogs in this county as there are cattle.”

  We picked up an ice-cream-streaked Jeremy and Rhonda and walked back to Dusty Deals. I dug the white rag I’d found earlier out of the trash and handed it to Blake. In return he gave me his cell phone number and some unneeded advice.

  “Remember, somebody wants something they thought was in this shop, and I don’t think they got it last night. Keep your doors locked and a phone handy. And whatever else you do, don’t do anything stupid.”

  Chapter 24

  I couldn’t exactly conduct business with my door locked, so that was out. My phone was always handy. And the stupid part, well really, what was that supposed to mean?

  But I didn’t argue. I just followed him to the door and made sure it shut behind him. Then I did my best to return to my day.

  Unfortunately, business was slow, probably because of the race. So with no customers to claim my attention, I continued with my cleaning.

  I scrubbed down the bathroom, revealing the rust under the stains. I sprayed every glass window, shelf, and door in the place with cleanser and used the week’s worth of newspapers rubbing them to a blinding shine. I stirred the dust around, catching some of it with a damp cloth.

  Through all of this I thought. Was it possible Darrell broke into my shop? He didn’t need money. He wasn’t into antiques. It just couldn’t be Darrell. Still, I couldn’t shake the thought loose.

  I went to my office and retrieved the note. Darrell didn’t even know I had it. It couldn’t be related.

  The front bell signaled the arrival of the couple who had put a down payment on the china cabinet. I spent some time helping them to wrap up the shelves and load the cabinet into a trailer. When they left, I returned to my office and the note.

  I stared at the yellowed piece of paper and made a decision. I had to know if Darrell had broken into my shop, and I wasn’t going to find out sitting here on my behind. I had to talk to him. The note gave me an excuse, if nothing else. I picked up the phone and dialed his office. It rang four times before he answered.

  I decided to pretend our brief conversation at the race hadn’t happened. I pushed it to the back of my mind and made a concerted effort to sound confident.

  I don’t think I succeeded.

  My voice shaking, I said, “I think I found something you might want.”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “Really. What might you have?” Darrell sounded a little suspicious. Was it just my imagination?

  “It’s a note, from your father to your grandmother.” I twirled the phone cord around my finger. “I think he wrote it right before your grandfather died, when your father was in Oklahoma.”

  “Oh, I appreciate you telling me about it.” Darrell cleared his throat. “It does sound like something I might want to have. Are you going to be around this afternoon?”

  “Till five anyway.”

  “Oh and, Lucy, did you ever find a buyer for that weasel for your friend?”

  “The weasel?” I jerked my finger out of the coiled phone cord. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason. Just curious. I was thinking, if you can’t find a buyer, someone in the family might like it, as a remembrance of Pop, you know.”

  A remembrance. New suspicions rose, but I tapped them down, at least enough to make a non-committal reply and hang up.

  Then I stared at the phone.

  Darrell was interested in the weasel. This so soon after the break-in... was it coincidence or something more?

  I probably needed to get the weasel out and give him the once over, but I didn’t want to face it alone. Come to think of it, I didn’t want to face Darrell alone either. I called Spirit Books to see if Rhonda could keep me company, but there was no answer.

  I avoided my problems by closing up and running out to pick up a sandwich and bag of pretzels. Once back at my desk, I tried to eat, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. Talk about depressing.

  My eyes wandered to the flue. I crawled up on my desk and pried the cover off. My little friend was still there. I took him out to the register, away from Kiska’s hungry gaze.

  I dumped the weasel onto the wood countertop. He was just as ugly and unappealing as I remembered. With my hand wrapped in the plastic bag, I gave him a one-fingered poke. Most of him seemed soft and hollow, but one area was hard. I turned him over and investigated more closely. On his throat was a small tear or slit. It could easily have been from the process of killing and drying him, but something made me look harder.

  I pushed a silver letter opener inside the slight gap until it hit something hard. Pulling on the tough weasel leather, I nudged the object toward the opening. The edge of something smooth and dark poked out. I kept working until a large crystal fell onto the countertop. I held it up to the light. A brilliant red gleam spread across the counter.

  “You have something for me?” Darrell Deere stood in the doorway. He’d retrieved his cane and twirled it as he spoke.

  I wrapped my fist around the ruby and dropped my hand to my lap. “Oh, the note. Let me get it.”

  Darrell took a step towards me. “What do you have there? Is that the weasel from Pop’s Indian set?” He paused, with the cane suspended in mid twirl.

  “I found a buyer. Bill Russell’s taking it. I’ll just go f
ind that note now.” I inched toward my office, the ruby hidden in my fist at my side.

  Darrell quickly covered the space to the register. He jerked up the weasel and studied it. “It was in here wasn’t it? You found it, didn’t you? It shouldn’t have been in there.” He dropped the weasel onto the countertop and turned to face me. “You can’t keep it.”

  I continued on the journey to my office. “I know. I said I’d get it for you.”

  “Not the note. The ruby. You found the ruby didn’t you?” Darrell strode toward me and grabbed my arm in a tourniquet-like grip.

  I didn’t know how to react. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. The bad guys were, well, bad. They weren’t community icons whose grandmother you idealized and who gave their nieces diamond and ruby rings for no reason. They had beady eyes and grouchy dispositions.

  This completely sucked.

  I tried to pull away. My feet slid toward Darrell, my hand with the ruby in it waved wildly. I landed on the ground as Kiska pushed the office door open. He stared at Darrell for a heartbeat, stepped over me, then placed himself between me and my cane-wielding assailant.

  Darrell dropped my arm and took a step back. “Call him off. I don’t want to hurt him. I just want what’s mine.” He lifted his cane above his head.

  Kiska seemed frozen. I could see the tension in his muscles. Slowly, his ruff began to rise.

  “Call him off.” Darrell took another step back.

  Kiska advanced an inch, keeping the majority of his 100-plus-pound body over mine.

  “Give me the ruby.” Darrell held out his hand.

  Kiska let out a low growl, a sound I rarely heard from him and never with this timbre.

  A pint of blood dropped out of Darrell’s face. He lifted his arm and the brass horse head came slashing down—toward Kiska’s head. I screamed, pushed myself to a sit, and flung the ruby with the speed and accuracy of a major-league pitcher. It smacked Darrell right between his brilliant blue eyes. The twinkle dimmed to a daze as he stumbled backward.

  “The ruby. You hit me with the ruby.” He rubbed the red spot on his forehead.

  “No shit.” I grabbed Kiska’s collar and tugged him to my side. His tags jangled as he turned his head toward the front door. A cloud of yellow feathers whizzed in the door. Betty stopped short when she saw Darrell with the cane again poised above his head. She grabbed the Roseville planter I’d bought at Sunday’s auction and tip-toed toward Darrell’s back.

  “Where’d it go?” Darrell was focused on Kiska and me. He didn’t seem to notice the bundle of sunshine sneaking up behind him. “I have to find it.”

  Not the Roseville.

  I frantically looked around for something else and spied Kiska’s cookie-stuffed green pepper.

  I yelled, “No! Cookies. Cookies.”

  I had both Darrell and Kiska’s attention. Kiska plopped to a sit.

  A nervous looking Darrell asked, “Is that some kind of command? Why’d you say that?”

  I had to keep his attention. I couldn’t let him see Betty. “Why’d you kill Crandell?”

  Darrell looked confused. “Crandell? I didn’t kill Crandell.”

  Betty kept coming, still gripping my 400-dollar find.

  “Cookies. Cookies,” I urged.

  “What are you babbling about?” Darrell’s arm was beginning to shake.

  What was Betty doing? Pick up the cookie jar.

  I concentrated on keeping my eyes on Darrell. “Come on. You killed Crandell for the ruby. Somehow you found out it was in the weasel, and you killed him to get it.”

  “You do watch too much TV. I didn’t kill Crandell. I hired Crandell.” Darrell lowered the cane. “A few months ago, I found my grandmother’s diary. In it, she said something about hiding the ruby in Pop’s medicine man set. I couldn’t believe it. We’d sold the damn thing years ago.”

  He shook his head. “I knew, if I tried to buy it, my family would be on to me. They’d know there was something funny going on. I’d never been interested in that old crap of Pop’s. So, I went looking for somebody to buy it for me and ran across this fellow, Crandell. He seemed to know what he was doing, so I paid him to come up here and buy the set. Damned if he didn’t try and con me. You can’t trust anybody these days. It’s a damned shame.”

  “Yeah, that is a shame,” I encouraged him. “Cookies,” I mouthed to Betty. She dropped the Roseville into a box of paper-wrapped dinnerware. I held my breath, waiting for the crash of breaking art pottery. No sound came. My heart started beating again.

  “I found out he was trying to sell pieces of the set off. So, I called him up and lit into him. Told him to get down to my office with the set and to dress in something normal for a change. I couldn’t have Grizzly Adams strutting into my place.”

  Betty grabbed the cookie jar in both hands.

  Darrell continued “I was watching for him out my window, and I saw him standing in the alley fighting with that….”

  In a downward streak of green and yellow, the cookie jar crashed onto the top of Darrell’s head. The green pepper cracked open, and Darrell sank to the ground in a rain of peanut-butter dog biscuits. Kiska leapt from my grip snapping up treats as they fell.

  Betty brushed her hands together and grinned like a possum. “Yowza, honey, I always kind of liked that pepper. You should have let me hit him with that clinker of a planter.”

  I sank onto the floor where Kiska stripped Darrell of his cookie covering.

  o0o

  Eventually, I stirred up enough energy to call Blake. When I came back, Kiska was still grazing around the unconscious Darrell while Betty, perched atop Darrell’s backside, helped my dog sort out cookie bits from shards of broken pepper.

  Luckily Blake showed up before Darrell showed signs of coming to. I didn’t think Kiska or Betty was going to let him move on his own without a fight.

  Blake took custody of the weasel, the ruby, and Darrell.

  I called Ted. He wasn’t as enthusiastic about my news as I’d expected. “Darrell Deere? Are you sure he was arrested? The publisher isn’t going to like this.”

  Darrell Deere equaled money and power in Helena. Plus, he was buds with the publisher.

  “Are you sure he was arrested?”

  “Well, he didn’t leave in handcuffs, but Blake took him to the station.”

  “Did he actually hit you?”

  “No, but he was going to. I stopped him with the ruby. I threw it at him.”

  “So you hit him? With a ruby? What’s that, assault with a gemstone? Could get you five to 10, more if you’re caught with a concealed bracelet.” He chuckled.

  Everyone’s a smart ass.

  “You want the story or what?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds pretty iffy. I’ll have to run it by a few people. Either way, I don’t think you can write it up. You’re too involved. Thanks for the tip though. I’ll have someone call you for a follow-up.”

  Thanks for the tip? This was the moment I’d been waiting for. Ted should have been on his knees groveling, but instead he gives me a thanks for the tip.

  Disgusted, I hung up and went to Spirit Books.

  o0o

  Rhonda treated me to a much-needed margarita on the rocks. The Rose was quiet. Lunch was over, and it was still a couple of hours before the dinner rush would begin. We ate two baskets of chips and four bowls of salsa while I retold my tale.

  “Darrell Deere. Are you sure he was going to hit you? I just can’t picture him as a killer.” Rhonda dipped a chip into the bowl marked “hot.”

  I’d lost any favorable impressions of Darrell Deere I might have had. I had no problem picturing him as a killer. All I had to do was think of him standing over me with that cane.

  “He tried to hit Kiska. Why are you so sure he didn’t kill Crandell? The ruby is the perfect motive.”

  “But, you said he denied it, didn’t you?”

  I put down my glass. “Of course he denied it. This isn’t TV you know.” I didn
’t know Rhonda was so naïve. “He did admit to hiring Crandell. When he found out Crandell was looking to sell pieces of the set to other people, he must have gotten mad and stabbed him.”

  “What about the fight you said he was talking about right before Betty hit him? Couldn’t that have been the killer?”

  I rubbed some salt off the edge of my glass and licked it off my finger. “He made that up. Who else was going to stand out in my alley and meet Crandell? No, Darrell killed him. There’s no doubt about it.”

  Chapter 25

  At home, I took Kiska for a well-deserved and, after consuming a pepper full of cookies, much-needed walk.

  After he’d trotted off a peck or so of the treats, I texted Peter Blake. While I waited for his callback, I curled up on the couch with the futuristic romance novel Rhonda had given me earlier that week. The heroine had just discovered the hero had some very interesting mental powers when my phone rang. I folded back the corner of the page and got up to answer.

  I didn’t wait for the niceties. “What did Darrell say? Did he admit to killing Crandell? Did you book him for attacking me?”

  Blake inhaled loudly. “I shouldn’t tell you anything…”

  “But?” I prompted. All need to be polite had been scared out of me by Darrell. There was a fire under my behind that wouldn’t be put out easily.

  “No buts. I don’t want to read about this in the paper tomorrow.”

  “You mean nobody else from the paper’s called you yet? You have to be kidding.” I let out an exasperated puff.

  Fine, Ted thought I was too close to cover this one, but really, somebody had to. “Ted took me off the story and didn’t send anybody else down there?”

  “Ted took you off it?” Blake asked. I was suspicious he was grinning. “That explains Marcy doing her best to blend into the walls out in the reception area.”

  Ha. Ted had sent Marcy. I felt bad for her, but pretty darn satisfied Ted wasn’t going to get much for tomorrow’s run. I did the unthinkable and, for a split-second, hoped the TV news scooped him.

  ”As long as you promise you won’t call your buddy Marcy and fill her in on what I tell you, I’ll share a little with you. I can’t risk the details being in the paper tomorrow though.” Blake paused, obviously waiting for some kind of commitment from me.