Record Store Reckoning, page 5
Unfolded laundry sat in a mound in Eddie’s beloved leather recliner. Unopened mail had been tossed in a pile on the oak coffee table in the center of the room. A half dozen empty soda pop cans formed a loose perimeter around the mail, separating it from an empty pizza box.
Eddie had never been known as a neat freak, but he kept his home tidy. Rafe didn’t share that trait. In any way. On top of the mess, the sight of the pricey shoes, that Eddie had undoubtedly paid for, made her blood boil.
Unsure of whether she was really welcome, Darcy stood close to a wall and wrapped her arms around her. The sooner she got through this, the better.
“I wanted to say how sorry I am about Eddie. For your loss, I mean.” She clamped her mouth shut to cut off any blabbering.
“Yeah. A real bummer.” Rafe dropped onto a couch half-covered with video games and grabbed a game controller. “This place is mine now, I guess.”
For a second, Darcy wanted to throw a drumstick at the unfeeling jerk. Then she reminded herself that people grieve in different ways. Maybe Rafe was still processing everything. She’d give him another chance.
“I wanted to give you this.” She handed him a key ring that held a fob for Eddie’s car and a few other keys. “It’s still parked behind the record store. Thought you might want to get it before someone vandalizes it.”
“Cool.” He tossed the ring onto the coffee table, where it slid off and landed on the carpet. “Hey, do you play Call of Duty? I’m part of a sick online group that plays it. A new game starts in a few minutes.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. So much for second chances. This guy clearly didn’t care about his deceased stepdad. And that gave her an idea.
“I don’t want to interrupt your gaming. Do you mind if I go through Eddie’s things? I thought I might try to find papers that are important for the record store.”
“Like what?” He picked up his game controller.
“Insurance policy, financial records, a will. Things that might be relevant to the store.”
“Why? You want to find out if you’re in the will?”
Darcy closed her eyes and counted to ten. The man was more irritating than feedback from a messed-up sound system. Why Eddie had put up with the ungrateful louse was beyond her.
“Of course not. But the man owned a business, this house, a car, and who knows what else. If no will is found, everything will have to go through probate. Which will take a long time and won’t be cheap. And the costs to pay that will come out of Eddie’s estate.”
Darcy didn’t know whether a trip through probate court would be time-consuming or expensive. What she did know, or at least suspected, was that Rafe was counting on receiving a large inheritance from the man. The presence of a will might put a monkey wrench into those plans.
When Rafe chose to start his game instead of responding, she threw up her hands. “Come on, Ringo. Let’s take a look around. See what we can find.”
She was two steps away from Eddie’s home office when Rafe shouted at her to stop. “I didn’t give you permission to snoop.”
“I’m not snooping. I’m trying to do what needs to be done.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Look, the cops told me you’re making funeral arrangements. That’s a lot on you right now. Let me do this one thing for you.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I’ll look for that stuff later.”
Her shoulders drooping in resignation, Darcy returned to the front room. “Okay. Let me know if you find anything, okay? BTW, I’m going to keep the record store open. It’s what Eddie would have wanted.”
The last sentence was Darcy’s challenge to Rafe. Without the store, there was no cash flow. The twerp wouldn’t dare to cut that off.
“I’ll let you know when the funeral arrangements are done. I still have to talk to my bro about it. And I know you’re trying to help. I got this though, okay?” He waved goodbye at her, his gaze never leaving the TV screen.
With her visit so unceremoniously concluded, Darcy made headed outside. Ringo let out a little hiss when the door closed behind them.
“I know buddy. Eddie always treated you like a king. You can have a snack when we get home.”
Darcy and Ringo stopped at the end of the walkway when he stopped to sniff at a bush for a bathroom break. While it was a juvenile thought, Darcy was proud of Ringo for going potty on a bush that now, more likely than not, would end up belonging to Rafe.
Then she had a more grown-up thought.
What if he was hiding something?
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Rafe knew exactly where the will was stored. The younger man had lived in the house since his mother and Eddie had gotten married, and that had been thirty years ago. Even after she died in a car crash, Rafe, who was in his late twenties by that time, chose to remain with his stepdad.
Three decades was plenty of time to learn where all of Eddie’s important documents were kept. And to plan a murder. But why would Rafe kill his golden goose? Then Darcy recalled a piece of advice from almost every mystery she’d watched.
Follow the money.
If Rafe knew he was in line to inherit Eddie’s belongings, maybe he got tired of living by the old man’s rules and murdered him. That way, the house, business, car, and any other assets would go to him. To do with what he pleased. Good, bad, smart, or dumb.
It seemed plausible. Knowing Rafe the way Darcy did, any inheritance, even one in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, wouldn’t last long. But Rafe didn’t think about long-term consequences. He only seemed to care about his own immediate satisfaction.
That didn’t bode well for the record store.
Another idea took off in Darcy’s head. Maybe Rafe was the one who stole the Beatles album. Smart enough to know it might take a while to get his inheritance, maybe he killed Eddie and took the collectible as he left the store. Then, he could sell it and use the proceeds to tide him over until he got the keys to the inheritance kingdom.
That theory made a lot of assumptions. But, like a solid bass line, it gave Darcy’s search for the truth a path to follow. It was the start she needed.
With Ringo’s business complete and a roadmap in place, Darcy turned to head home. They’d only gone a few steps when a man emerged from the shadows. It was Claude Ewing, Eddie’s neighbor.
“Evening, Darcy.” The man lit a cigarette. “The missus doesn’t let me smoke in the house. Sorry if I startled you.”
“No. We were paying Rafe a visit. Ringo and I were about to head home.”
Claude took a long drag on his cigarette, then blew out the noxious smoke as he nodded. A retired Marysburg firefighter, the man was well regarded around town. Darcy didn’t know him well, though.
“How is he?” The ashes from the cigarette lit up his face with their fiery red glow.
“Hard to tell. Maybe he’s keeping his grieving inside, but he doesn’t seem too broken up about Eddie’s murder.”
Claude raised a bushy, gray eyebrow, but refrained from commenting on Darcy’s use of the word murder.
“Maxwell was an asset to the community. I’m sorry for your loss.” He chuckled. “It’ll be a lot quieter around here. That’s for sure.”
Darcy smiled. Eddie had loved to entertain. One of his favorite slogans was laissez le bon temps roule. Let the good times roll. When he threw a party, which he often did, the good times rolled, indeed. Delicacies abounded, drinks flowed, and music played. The soirees often spilled into the back yard, where Eddie would lead impromptu jam sessions on his trombone.
There had been a couple of legendary Mardi Gras parties that ran into the wee hours of the morning and only ended when the Marysburg Police arrived.
Darcy had steered clear of Eddie’s parties to avoid temptation. She heard about them, though. And could sympathize with a neighbor’s unhappiness with the noise they produced.
Eddie had been her friend, though. She’d defend him until her own dying breath.
“He never meant to bother anyone. He just believed in living life to the fullest.”
“I know. Most of the time he was a good neighbor.” Claude took another drag on his cigarette, then dropped it on the sidewalk and rubbed it into the concrete with his boot. “I’m not going to lie, though. I’m looking forward to the peace and quiet. I’ll keep an eye out to make sure Rafe’s okay. Have yourself a good night.”
With his hands in his pockets, Claude strolled toward his house, as if they’d had a conversation about the weather instead of about his deceased next-door neighbor.
Darcy shrugged and began the mile-long walk home, with Ringo bouncing along at her side. The cat was enjoying the trip, but something about the conversation with Claude bothered her.
She’d been raised that it was bad manners to speak ill of the dead. Even if Darcy didn’t like someone who’d passed away, her parents had taught her the right thing to do was to keep negative comments about the deceased to herself.
Evidently, Claude didn’t share the sentiment, which was fine. Different strokes for different folks, after all. But why bring up his unhappiness with the parties? Everyone in town knew how much Eddie meant to her. It was like pouring salt into a wound.
Darcy came to a stop.
Or was it something else? Was there more to Claude Ewing’s problem with his former neighbor than met the eye? There had been plenty of folks murdered for reasons more trivial than hosting loud parties. Perhaps Claude Ewing needed looking into. To be thorough. Nothing more.
“I believe we’ve got two suspects now, Ringo.” She scratched his ears and resumed their trek home. “We have some work to do.”
Chapter Six
The following morning dawned clear and bright. The warm, golden glow of a new spring day woke Darcy before her alarm went off. Ringo was curled up, snoring away in his usual spot at the end of the bed.
“Did our walk wear you out, buddy?” Darcy scooped the cat up in her arms and snuggled him until his squirming got too much to contain.
She’d slept through the night without a single bad dream. That was rare occurrence.
Maybe it was the exhaustion from the intense day at work along with the walk. Whatever the reason for her well-rested state, Darcy sent the angels above a thank you. There was much to be done, after all.
The first thing on her agenda was to drop off Rusty at Marysburg AutoCare. As the jeep wheezed into silence in front of the garage, the manager, Liam Simmons, came out to greet her.
“I knew your wheels needed help.” He waved an exhaust cloud from his face, the bluish haze obscuring his short, brown hair and hazel eyes. “I didn’t know it was this bad, D. Be forewarned, I’m no miracle worker.”
“Give it a rest, L. I’m a busy woman who ain’t got time for extra drama.” After tossing the keys to him, she scooped up the four-inch-high stack of mail and paperwork she’d ignored when she got home the previous evening. “A rolling stone gathers no moss, and all that kind of thing.”
“I know.” He put his arm around her and held her close for a moment, his chin resting on the crown of her head. The same as he’d done back in college whenever she was feeling low. “And I’m really sorry about Eddie. He was a good dude.”
“Truer words were never spoken. And a forgiving one, in your case.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
They laughed. At one of Eddie’s parties, after one too many mojitos, Liam had tried to play one of the host’s trombones. Despite the fact air guitar was the only instrument he’d ever played.
“Why should I? The only things you got out of that stupid stunt were an embarrassing video that ended up all over social media and a bill to repair the damage you did to the horn.”
“Come on. That video got over ten thousand views on Instagram.” Liam gave Darcy a light punch on the arm. “Gave me my fifteen minutes of fame. Not bad for a no-talent grease monkey like me.”
“Whatever.” Darcy looked at her watch. The face looked like a drum. The hands resembled drumsticks. “I need to rock ’n roll. Tell you what. You get Rusty running nice and you can drop the no-talent part.”
They exchanged a fist bump and Liam promised to call her with an estimate before noon. Despite the heavy issues weighing on her mind, Darcy made the mile walk from the garage to Perfect Pastries with a note of positivity. Hanging out with her old college buddy, even briefly, improved her mood and reminiscing about Eddie while she did so couldn’t be beat.
After ordering a ham and cheese bagel and an Irish Breakfast tea, Darcy grabbed a spot on the sidewalk in front of the bakery. If today was like the day before, once she got to work, she wouldn’t step outdoors until she locked up for the night. Enjoying the fresh air while she dealt with the mail would be good for her.
While she waited for the bagel to cool, she sorted the stack of documents into three groups. The first group consisted of junk mail, which she wrapped in a rubber band for recycling. The second one was made up of bills and a few payments the store had received. She’d deposit the checks on her way to the store. The bills could wait until Friday, her usual day for doing that task. The final group was small, but the most intriguing. The envelopes gave no indication who they were from.
She wasn’t sure whether to be scared or excited.
A warm breeze pushed strands of hair from Darcy’s eyes as she studied the eight-by-twelve manila envelope that was on the top of the stack. Her name was written in bold circular scrawl. Any doubt about who wrote her name was eliminated by the green ink used to write it.
A few years back, Darcy and Eddie had developed a code for written, in-store communication. The system had come about after a theft in which the perpetrator had given a letter to the staff indicating certain merchandise was to be “donated” to a charitable cause. The document was a fake and Eddie’s signature had been forged. Ever since, he used green ink for all his in-store notes and memos. Darcy used purple. They’d never had a problem with theft due to forgery again.
Now, Darcy was equal parts excited and frightened. What had Eddie left for her?
With trembling fingers, she opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. They were official-looking legal documents. She tilted her head to the side as she read the post-it note stuck to the top page.
When she was finished, she sat back in her chair. The news was stunning. “Can’t be. Eddie would have told me.”
She looked around to make sure nobody was filming her, a la Candid Camera, then read the note a second time.
Congrats on 5 years of sobriety! In honor of your hard work, you’re now the President of Marysburg Music, Inc. Here’s to a great future, kiddo.
A shadow came across the table as Darcy was studying the documents. She looked up to find Todd Meadows blocking the sun. The realtor was dressed impeccably in a tailored gray suit. The tie and pocket square were made of matching material that featured a paisley print in a variety of shades of red. A quick glance down confirmed his black oxfords, probably made in Italy, were polished to practically a mirror-like quality.
“Darcy.” Todd extended a hand. His slender fingers were characteristic of the man’s long, thin frame. “I wanted to express my condolences about Eddie’s passing. I’m sorry for your loss.”
She took his hand in hers. It was warm and smooth. Like shaking hands with Satan himself.
“May I join you?” He gestured to the open seat across the table from Darcy.
“Please do.” She smiled, despite the warning bells going off in her head.
Todd was known around town as an astute businessman and generous philanthropist. With his hands in both real estate and construction, he was one of Marysburg’s power brokers. And liked to make sure everyone knew it.
Darcy trusted him about as far as she could throw one of the cymbals from her drum kit. Twenty feet on a good day.
Todd started the conversation with some small talk, then cut to the chase. “I’m sure this is a terribly difficult time for you, but have you given any thought to the future of the record store?”
“I’ve actually given it a lot of thought. It wasn’t just a store to him. It was his dream. A place for music lovers of all types to celebrate their common interests. It was the center of a community. He built that. I want to keep it going.”
“You’re keeping the store open?” Todd raised an eyebrow.
“I am. It’s Eddie’s legacy, something bigger than one person. I can’t let that die.”
He leaned back in his chair as he crossed his arms. The defensive posture was an obvious tell. Darcy’s response wasn’t what he wanted to hear. That begged a question.
Why not?
Was he involved with Eddie’s murder somehow? She closed her eyes for a moment. Now she was seeing murder around every corner. Surrendering to paranoia wouldn’t help. Especially if she was serious about figuring out who killed Eddie.
Todd straightened his tie. His fingers reminded Darcy of an eagle’s talons. “That’s admirable of you. At the risk of sounding insensitive, are you certain you’re up to the task? You’re assuming that’s what he would have wanted, that is.”
“I am.” She showed him the document naming her president of the company. “I’m no fat cat lawyer, but I’m pretty sure this gives me the green light to keep the wheels rolling.”
“Hmm.” He flipped through the pages, rubbing his chin the entire time, as if he was trying to conjure some kind of magic to blow a hole in them. “Everything does appear to be in order.”
“What are you trying to say?” Darcy sat up in her chair as her system dumped adrenaline into her veins. In mere seconds, she’d moved into fight mode. “Of course, it’s in order. Eddie and me built that store from the ground up. There’s no better person than me to take the lead.”
“I’m not saying anything. Merely looking at this from the perspective of an impartial third party. The face of the company takes his own life and suddenly you have decision-making authority.”
