by Harper Lin
“Karl, my late grandfather—” I paused for effect, hoping my grandfather wouldn’t mind too much my invoking his memory this way. “Had this old radio in the back of his closet. For the life of me, I can’t get it to work, but I have such fond memories of listening to Red Sox games on it with him that I’d love to get it working again. Do you think you can help me?” I was banking on Karl not having relocated to Cape Bay from New York or some other rival baseball team’s territory. The one sentence he had uttered didn’t sound particularly “Noo Yawk-y,” so I thought I was safe.
He pulled the radio toward him and popped open the empty battery compartment. After closing it back up, he plugged the cord in under the counter. He punched a few buttons. As expected, nothing happened.
“We’ll take a look.” He scrawled out a ticket and handed it to me. He scribbled some more on another piece of paper and taped it onto the radio. He picked it up and turned to walk into the back.
Was that how they treated their customers?
“How much will it be?” I asked.
“Won’t know until we figure out what’s wrong,” he said.
“Well, how will you contact me to let me know?”
“You said you work at Antonia’s, right?”
“I own it, yes.”
“We’ll call you there,” he said, not unkindly but not exactly warmly either.
I opened my mouth to say something else, but I couldn’t quite figure out what that should be. “Well, thank you!” I gave him a big smile. If he couldn’t be polite, at least I could be. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you!”
He nodded and disappeared into the back. Mary Ellen certainly had unusual taste in men. For such an exuberant woman, she seemed to like her men quiet and a little grumpy.
There was nothing else I could do there, so I took myself for a walk. Sammy had said that she often saw Karl playing chess at the park in the early afternoons. I wasn’t sure what time he usually got there, but I guessed it might be after lunch, when I was supposed to be working. I pulled out my cell phone and called the café. Sammy answered on the second ring.
“Antonia’s Italian Café, this is Samantha. How may I help you?” she singsonged.
“Hey, Sammy, it’s Fran.”
“Oh hey!” she said, much less formally. “What’s up?”
“Do you think you could get somebody to cover for me if I took today off?”
Sammy only paused for a second. “Yeah, I’ll call Rhonda and see if she can come in.”
Rhonda was a little older than me, and she worked for us a few hours a week, mostly during the school year when her kids were out of the house. They were old enough now that she didn’t have to be home with them all the time, but she still liked to keep an eye on them when she could.
“Okay, that’s great,” I said. “Tell her I’ll put a little extra in her paycheck for the short notice.”
“Oh, you know that’ll get her in!” Sammy laughed.
I knew it would. Rhonda mainly worked to fund her occasional trips to Neiman Marcus. A couple hours’ work at the café didn’t go very far there, but I think she liked being able to buy something from the makeup counter and walk out with a Neiman Marcus bag for everyone to see.
I thanked Sammy and hung up, leaving myself a few hours to wander around town. It was actually fun. Thinking about that furry friend I wanted to get, I walked to the animal shelter across from the police station. I thought about popping in to see if Mike had made any progress on Mr. Cardosi’s case, but I figured he didn’t need to be bothered, and I didn’t have any solid leads of my own yet that I wanted to share.
I walked into the animal shelter and smiled at the girl behind the desk.
“Hello!” I said. “I was wondering if you had any adoptable pets I could look at?”
“Of course!” she replied. “Are you looking for a dog or a cat?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I shrugged. “I like both. It just depends on who I fall in love with.”
“Not a problem. Everyone’s through there,” she said, gesturing to a door behind her. “Dogs are on the right, and cats are on the left. Let me know if you have any questions about any of the animals or if you find someone you want to adopt!” She was an exceptionally chipper young woman.
I went into the cat room first. It was much nicer than I remembered. About five kitties shared two large spaces with scratching posts and places to climb and even a few toys. I stopped at each enclosure. They were adorable, but none of them really called out to me.
I went over to the dog space next. It was also much fancier than it had been. That was actually nice to see. I always felt bad for dogs locked in cages that seemed both sterile and filthy at the same time. If the dogs had still been kept that way, I might have adopted them all just out of pity. They all seemed comfortable and happy, but none of them quite made me feel like they were My Dog.
I walked back out into the lobby.
“Find anybody you liked?” she asked.
“No, not today,” I said, shaking my head. “But I’ll be back.”
“That’s great!” she replied. “We’ll look forward to seeing you!”
I walked outside. I was near the park, so I walked in that direction. I could see the chess tables from the road, so I would be able to see if Karl was there without seeming as though I was spying or lurking. Only two men were sitting at the tables, and neither one was Karl. I would have to wait to see if he’d show up later.
It was still on the early side, so I ate beach food and strolled around some streets I hadn’t been on since my return. I went past my old best friend’s house—her family had moved to California when we were in high school. We’d exchanged letters then emails on and off ever since. The new owners had repainted the house and completely changed the front garden, so I had to look at the house number to make sure I was looking at the right place. It reminded me that I should email her—I hadn’t told her about my mother’s death yet, let alone Mr. Cardosi’s. She had also played with Matt when we were kids, and she still asked about him every once in a while.
When I felt as though I’d wandered around long enough that Karl might be at the park, I turned back in that direction. I was on the back side of the park, so I had to go around the pond and up the hill stairs to get to the chess tables. The stairs were at an angle, so I couldn’t see anything at the top of them until I came up over the hill. As I crested the hill and came around the corner, I smiled. Karl was sitting at one of the chess tables, all by himself.
Chapter 15
I strolled up to him as casually as I could, trying to look as though I was just wandering through the park before I came across my new acquaintance.
“Karl?” I said as I got close.
He looked at me. I could tell he couldn’t quite place me at first, but after a few seconds, I saw recognition dawn on his face.
“Francesca. You brought in your grandfather’s radio.” He still had that very neutral tone.
“Do you mind if I join you?” I asked, smiling and slipping into the seat across from him without waiting for an answer. He had the chess pieces already laid out. “My grandfather used to bring me here to play chess with his buddies when I was a kid. It’s been a long time, but I think I can still hold my own if you want to play a game.”
He didn’t say anything, just nodded and moved his pawn.
We were mostly quiet during the game. That had been my grandfather’s style of play also. Whenever I started to be too much of a chatterbox, he would stop playing and lean back with his arms crossed until I noticed and stopped talking. It had taken a while, but I eventually learned my lesson.
I kept up with Karl pretty well for a while, but it was quickly evident that he was a much better player and much more practiced. I managed to work my way out of a check once, but only a couple of moves after that, he called checkmate. I stared at the board in complete surprise. I thought I’d at least had it under control—the checkmate took me completely off guard. I l
ooked at him with my mouth open. I was surprised to see a bit of a smile on his face, the first hint of emotion I had seen from him. He reached his hand across the table for me to shake.
“I didn’t even see that coming,” I said as we shook hands.
“I think your grandfather would be proud if that’s how you play when you’ve been away from the game for a while. I thought I had you a couple times, but you made good moves to get out of it.”
“Thank you,” I said. That really felt like a genuine compliment. “So you’re new in town, right?”
He seemed to give me a suspicious look as we went about setting the pieces back up. “I am.”
“What brought you to Cape Bay?” I felt as though he wasn’t eager to answer the question, so I kept talking in an effort to set him at ease. “Friends? Family? Just looking to retire by the sea?”
He continued eyeing me, but at least he answered. “Retirement. The beach seemed like a good place to start this part of my life.”
“Well, that’s nice!” I said cheerily, trying to keep the conversation going. “Do you have any grandkids that’ll be coming to visit you? I can imagine Grandpa living by the beach would be quite a draw!”
“No kids, no grandkids,” he said briefly.
“Oh well, at least you don’t have to worry about them tracking sand all over your house then!” I was trying to keep the conversation going even though I felt as if I was sinking. “How long have you been in town?”
“Few months.”
“Oh, just in time for the summer tourist season! Well, after Labor Day, things will calm down quite a bit. We get tourists all year ‘round, but summer is naturally the busiest.” I glanced at him. He didn’t have much of a reaction, so I kept going. “This summer has been especially crazy for me. I grew up here, but I was living in New York until a couple of months ago. My mom—I don’t know if you got to meet her—her name was Carmella? She ran Antonia’s?”
He didn’t really give any indication as to whether he had met her or not.
I went on. “She passed away a couple months ago, and I moved back to run the café. Then just a few weeks ago, my neighbor Gino Cardosi—he was the town barber?—he died.” Still no reaction. I decided to go for broke. I leaned in. “And there’s a rumor that he was murdered. Can you believe it? A murder in Cape Bay? It’s been a crazy summer!”
I leaned back and watched his face. I saw something flicker across it, but I wasn’t sure what it was. What was clear was that he was frowning more than he had been, and he was picking up the chess pieces instead of putting them down.
“I didn’t realize the time. I have to go,” he said brusquely and without looking at his watch. He put the pieces all back into their spaces in the case and closed it. “Nice playing with you.”
He walked away before I had a chance to fully process what was going on. I had obviously hit a nerve with my comments about Mr. Cardosi. I sat at the table, completely stunned. Who acted like that? And how guilty did it make him look? Very guilty, in my opinion.
I looked around to see if any of the other chess players had noticed Karl’s peculiar behavior. It didn’t seem that anyone had. They were all going about their games, oblivious to what had just happened at my table. I stood slowly and walked through the park, still baffled by the turn of events. Confused as I was, I knew I wanted to go home and get online to see what I could find out about Karl Richards.
I walked quickly through the park, down the stairs, and around the pond. I arrived back at my house and headed straight up the stairs to my room to get my laptop. As usual, it took forever to boot up, but once it did, Karl spelling his name with a K instantly made my investigation easier.
Six months ago, Karl Richards, age 61, had been released from prison after completing a twenty-year sentence for multiple counts of robbery.
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the computer. There was no way that was right. But right there in front of my disbelieving eyes was his mug shot. He was younger in the picture, with fewer lines on his face and much darker hair, but his hair was just as thick and still combed back in the same style. Besides, the caption laid it out for me:
Karl Richards, now age 61, as he looked upon his sentencing
I read the accompanying article that had been published after his release. Conveniently for me, it gave a detailed overview of his case for people who didn’t know about or remember his crimes. Apparently Karl had spent years breaking into the homes of the rich residents of Boston, picking their safes, and stealing their highest-priced valuables. Detectives were stuck for over a decade as the robberies continued. The jewels never showed up in local pawn shops or at any traceable auctions, foreign or domestic, despite the astronomically high prices they would bring. The police came to the conclusion that they had been sold directly to overseas buyers who had the wisdom not to resell them. But the robberies continued. No matter how sophisticated a security system someone installed, Karl, or the Filigree Filcher as the media took to calling him before they knew his identity, managed to get past it.
Homeowners and the police tried everything from stakeouts to booby traps. The Filigree Filcher didn’t seem to have any kind of pattern, rhyme, or reason to his thefts. The police couldn’t determine any connection between the victims beyond their wealth and exquisite taste in jewelry. He’d go quiet for so long that everyone assumed that he must have died, moved away, or been arrested for an unrelated crime. Then he’d pop back up, stealing something more glamorous and expensive than anything he’d stolen before and from a house with an even more elaborate security system.
It wasn’t until a good fifteen years into his thievery that a homeowner managed to rig up a night vision camera system that got a picture of the Filigree Filcher in action without him realizing. They plastered his image all over the news and newspapers, and it only took a few days for someone to identify the man in the picture as mild-mannered Karl Richards, who worked as an electrical engineer for a popular stereo maker.
When the police searched his home, they were shocked to find every single piece of jewelry that had been stolen over the years packed into shoe boxes and tucked away into his closet. He hadn’t sold, given away, or otherwise divested himself of anything he had taken. The mountain of evidence against him was insurmountable. Despite that, he refused to plead guilty and was convicted of every last charge at trial. He declined to ever give a reason for his crimes. Because of the sheer number of thefts and the hundreds of millions of dollars the jewelry added up to, he was sentenced to twenty years in prison. He’d had opportunities to get out on parole, and he had declined all of them. He didn’t leave prison until he had served every last day of his sentence.
Even after reading the whole article, and several others I found online, I still couldn’t quite believe it. “Retirement” indeed! He’d moved to Cape Bay because he was too well-known to go back to Boston! I wondered if he was still up to his crimes. Not that we had the kind of fabulously wealthy people with extravagant jewelry that Boston had. And I hadn’t heard of any robberies. News like that traveled fast in our small town. Whether or not that was what he was up to, though, what I knew was that I was looking at a known criminal who had a clear motive to murder Mr. Cardosi—they were both dating the same woman. And they’d openly despised each other.
Then I thought of something else. What if Mr. Cardosi had done the same Internet search I had? He hadn’t been a very technologically savvy guy, but I’d seen a computer in his house and it wasn’t really that hard to do a search. That lent a whole new element of intrigue to the case. If Mr. Cardosi had known about Karl’s criminal history and threatened to tell Mary Ellen about it if Karl didn’t back off, then Karl would have not one but two motives for murder.
For the first time since I’d started looking into Mr. Cardosi’s death, I had a murder suspect.
Chapter 16
My mind was swirling with my discovery. I wondered if the police knew, if they’d gotten this far in their investigation. I d
ebated calling Mike right away to share what I’d learned, but I decided I should fill Matt in first. He was at work, of course, and this wasn’t the kind of information I could give by text or over the phone, so I’d have to wait until he got home. I grabbed my cell phone to send him a text.
I found out something kind of big. Can we get together tonight?
I went back to my computer and looked at Karl’s mug shot again. Murder was a far cry from robbery, but I imagined that twenty years in prison could change a man. Still, was that the face of a man who would kill another man? Could the man who had complimented my chess game have murdered my neighbor? That was where the evidence was pointing, and a good investigator couldn’t ignore the evidence.
My text message alert sounded. I went back over and picked up my phone.
Sure. Want to get dinner too?
Dinner sounded good, but only if I was paying. I texted him back to say so. His reply came in quickly.
Yeah, we’ll see about that. ;)
A winky face! What did a winky face mean? Was it just a casual, joking reference to our ongoing debate on who was paying, or was he flirting with me? I wasn’t sure and I didn’t necessarily think it required a reply, so I left it alone.
I picked up the little notebook I’d been keeping my notes in. It was almost full. I needed to buy another one, but for now, I’d just go back to my legal pad. I flipped through the pages until I got to a blank one. There, I wrote down every detail of my two interactions with Karl Richards and a summary of what I’d found online, complete with the URLs of the articles I’d consulted.
By the time I was done, it was late afternoon, so I didn’t have long to wait before Matt got off work. I went downstairs and worked through some more of my grandparents’ things. I was making good progress. I’d completely finished both of their closets when I heard my text message alert. I was concerned that Matt might be cancelling our dinner, and I was surprised to see that it was already past five. I must have gotten way more involved in sorting and categorizing than I’d realized.
