09 Dead Man Running, page 14
Then the person just walked around the back of my porch, as if he owned the place. I turned to go into the house and run like lightning when I heard a voice. It was Lou Counts.
“What in the hell are you doing in my backyard?” I asked, furious with her but relieved at the same time. My thumb was on the nine button on the phone; if she came two steps closer I was calling 911.
“Just making sure you stay on your own property,” she said.
I was so confused I didn’t know what to think. “I am on my property. Speaking of which, you’re on it, too. You’d better get off.”
“Go ahead, call 911,” she said. “I am the responding officer.”
“No,” I said. “Miller is on duty. I know the sheriff’s department schedule.”
“Then I was never here. Like to see you prove that I was,” she said.
It was going to be like that, huh? “Fine,” I said. “It rained last night. It’s muddy. I’m sure your footprints will be easy enough to cast.”
She laughed a little, but it was more to try to make her look smart than anything else. She knew I was right. “Stay away from the mayor’s house,” she said. “Colin doesn’t want you over there. I’m just doing some moonlighting, to make sure his wishes are met.”
“Oh, did he put you up to this?”
She shuffled her feet. I couldn’t see her expression in the dark, just the glint of the moon off her cropped hair. “There are so many things going on right under your nose and you’re too self-absorbed to see any of them,” she said.
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that the sheriff really doesn’t want you snooping where you don’t belong. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that if it weren’t for his wife, he’d have as little to do with you as possible. He puts up with you only because his wife would be heartbroken if he didn’t. He also told me he felt sorry for your husband.”
“Everybody feels sorry for Rudy. That’s no big secret.”
“They bowl together,” she declared.
“Yes, I’m aware. Boy, you’re a regular detective.”
“It’s the only thing you’re aware of. At the bowling alley last week, Rudy told his friend and fellow bowler Chuck that he wished you guys would move to California.”
“What?” I said.
“That was right after the guys in the bowling alley were calling him some not too complimentary names and making fun of him.”
“About what?” I asked. A lump rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t trust anything this woman said. Not one word. Somehow, though, she’d managed to touch on my one area of insecurity. Now the seed was planted.
“About his marriage,” she scoffed. “Must you have everything spelled out for you?”
“You know what?” I said. “It’s three in the morning. You’re in my backyard uninvited, I’m barefoot, my teeth are chattering, and I have to pee. I don’t believe a word you’re saying. I believe you’d say whatever you could to distract me. So just go on home.”
“Distract you from what? Investigating a nonexistent crime that is none of your business?” she said.
“There’d have to be a crime in order for it to be none of my business.” Was I really having this conversation at three in the morning? On my back porch? “Besides, two guys on motorcycles were shooting guns in my town. That’s hardly a nonexistent crime.”
“I was referring to your mayor.”
Something wasn’t right. I could not for the life of me see what was going on here, but something wasn’t right. Everybody from Sam Hill to the mayor to this … this woman. There was something I was missing.
“Good night, Lou.”
“That’s Deputy Counts to you,” she said.
“Good night, Lou. I catch you in my yard again and you’ll be sorry,” I said.
She turned, hands clasped behind her back, and walked out of the yard. I was so furious with her I could have spit, but I was probably more furious with her for keeping me away from the mayor’s house. Until I saw her round the corner of my house, I had been entertaining the idea of snooping around over there.
I really, really hated that woman.
THE NEW KASSEL GAZETTE
The News You Might Miss
By Eleanore Murdoch
The hayrides and bonfire were a huge success! Well, other than the fact that people got shot at and such. We made a lot of money off of that event, and one man wrote us a letter saying it was the most fun he’d ever had in his life. Two weekends in a row we’ve had rip-roaring events! Has anybody else noticed the television crew trucks parked around town?
Oh, Tobias Thorley wants me to publish a thank-you for whoever it was who sewed up his knickers.
Father Bingham wants to encourage all of us to pray for the safe and speedy return of our mayor and his beloved wife.
Leftover apple cider from the weekend’s event can be bought at the general store for half price. My husband says it’s a great laxative.
One last thing. Elmer wants to have an audition for new members of the New Kassel adult marching band. Seems some of the members have had too many hip replacements to be able to march in time anymore. So see Elmer at the firehouse.
Can’t wait to see what happens on Halloween.
Until next time,
Eleanore
Fifteen
The next morning brought a head full of doubt and a gut full of conflict. There was a part of me that didn’t believe a single thing Lou Counts had said to me, but there was also a part of me that knew I was headstrong, belligerent at times, nosy, and a real pain in the butt to live with. Rudy had his hands full. Of that, there was no doubt. That’s why I loved him—because he knew my light side and he knew my dark side and still loved me. At least that’s what I’d thought. Or could this be what I sensed from him the other night? The sense that something wasn’t right between us and I was just too blind to see it? But wouldn’t he tell me if something was wrong? In my mind, I kept going back and forth with this argument. Then I’d think that Lou really was all those names that I’d spent the night calling her in my head. In fact, I’d fallen back asleep last night thinking up ingenious new names for the woman.
Then I’d think, why would Lou Counts lie? What would she have to gain from it? She wanted me out of the way, but out of the way of what? Unless she was seriously worried about my influence over the voters. Well, if she wanted to find out just who had the power in this town, I’d show her.
It was Eleanore Murdoch. Hands down. A few strategically dropped sentences and Eleanore would destroy Lou all on her own, or at least make things difficult for her. All I’d have to do was take the wrapping off the present. Gosh, all this time I thought I’d missed my calling and should have been a detective. I really should have been a politician. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew Father Bingham would have some rather discouraging words to say about what I planned to do, but darn it, this called for the big guns—and nothing was bigger than Eleanore’s mouth.
Rudy had gotten up and gone to work, just like every other day, and hadn’t acted as though he had some deeply hidden marriage-breaking secret in his heart. So after I dropped the girls off at school and Matthew off at my mother’s, I drove back to New Kassel, convinced more than ever that Lou Counts was just playing me—or trying to. A Sheryl Crow song was playing on the radio, and I sang along. For a moment I forgot all about what had happened over the weekend. It was just me and Sheryl and the gently rolling hills and meadows in their full autumnal blaze.
I arrived at the Gaheimer House and made some phone calls. One was to Eleanore. Did she know that I’d found that peculiar Lou Counts stalking around my backyard last night? Yes, it made me feel very creepy. Yes, Lou certainly had a lot of sway where the sheriff was concerned. That was all there was to it. Eleanore would take care of the rest. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel as guilty as I thought I would.
Then I started calling every high school in Granite County. I didn’t speak to people in administration because they would have told me that the information was confidential. I called up the librarians and asked them to check the yearbooks. “Yes, I’m planning a surprise birthday party for my father-in-law, Bill Castlereagh, and I wanted to come in and check your yearbooks for pictures of him that I could blow up and use at the party. I can’t ask him for his yearbooks or he’ll get suspicious. I think he graduated in 1967. Could you check and make sure before I drive down there? What? No Bill Castlereagh? What about 1966 and 1968? No? Well, I’m certainly glad I called first. Thank you.” Again, simple as that. Surely there was a place reserved in Hades for somebody who could lie that easily. It had my name on it. A throne, carved out in brimstone. I shook my head and rid myself of that vision.
By the time I was finished I had found out nothing, which was exactly what I was after. I had found out that nobody by the name of Bill Castlereagh had graduated from any high school in Granite County. Now he couldn’t even use the old I-came-from-the-area line.
The phone rang, and I answered it. It was my sister. Today was her day off. “Hey,” she said. “Look, Jimmy’s got a fever. If he’s not better by tomorrow, I may not be able to come in. I’ll ask my mother to watch him, but I’m not sure she can.”
“Okay,” I said. “Not a big deal.”
We talked a few more minutes, and then Collette sauntered into my office and plopped down in the chair across from me, one leg thrown over the arm of the chair as if she owned the whole damn place. That’s the thing with Collette. She can make any place feel like hers in nothing flat. There’s an art to that. Of course, she looked completely out of place in a room where the walls are decorated with my Rose of Sharon quilt and framed historical maps of the town and the county that have yellowed with age. She wore unbelievably spiked black heels, a black miniskirt with black hose, and a royal blue silk blouse. Still, she’d claimed the place as hers from the moment she swung that leg over the arm of the chair.
“Collette, I can see your underwear,” I said with my hand over the phone.
“Oh, like you’ve never seen it before,” she said and moved her leg around.
I said good-bye to Steph, hung up the phone, and stared at my best friend, who looked as though she’d had the worst night of her life. Her clothes might have been spiffy, but her hair looked sort of dirty, like from too much hair spray, and her makeup was smudged beneath her eyes. My assumption must have registered on my face.
“Don’t blame me. I’m traumatized. I had to drown my sorrows in something.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Well, I was so distraught after what happened to me Friday night that I’ve been on a shopping spree ever since,” she said. “I’m officially out of money.”
“Credit?”
“Maxed,” she said.
I had been so wrapped up in myself and my kids that it hadn’t even occurred to me that Collette might have been having some difficulty with what happened, too. Of course, Collette lived for excuses to go on shopping sprees, so I wasn’t going to feel too guilty over it.
“Hope you have enough money left to pay Eleanore,” I said.
“She made me pay for my room up front,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t trust anybody.”
“Nope. Not a soul.”
“I’ve got another check coming from the paper, and my severance pay. Otherwise, I’ll be dipping into my savings.”
“Have you decided where you’re going?”
“I heard back from Tucson. They want to do a face-to-face interview. So that’s good,” she said. Then horror crossed her face. “God, I’ll need a new suit and a manicure.”
“You’ll live.”
“Only if I get the new suit and manicure,” she said.
We were laughing when I heard the front door to the Gaheimer House open. Now, there’s a sign posted outside that gives the days and times we give tours, but tourists see a big old red brick building in this town and automatically assume we’re open. I’ve had people come in thinking we were an antique store. I had one woman who had an offer all ready for the sideboard and dining room furniture. She was quite upset when she found out none of the contents of the Gaheimer House were for sale. So I didn’t think much of it when I heard the door open, but then I realized that Stephanie wasn’t here, so I got up to go and see who it was. Before I could make it out of my office, a man appeared at the door. He wore a charcoal gray pinstripe suit, a silk shirt, and shiny shoes. His dark black hair was slicked back, and he had a nervous twitch in one shoulder.
“Tito de Rosa,” he said, and extended a hand.
I almost said, Oh, the hit man, but caught myself just in time. “Hello,” I said.
“I’m looking for Victory O’Shea,” he said.
“That would be me.”
“You’re Torie O’Shea?” he asked, looking me up and down.
“Yes,” I said. I’m not sure what he expected, but I suppose a short woman with sneakers, Levi’s, and a T-shirt that read NOBODY CAN EAT PIES LIKE I CAN EAT PIES wasn’t exactly his idea of the person who would run the historical society. The T-shirt was from a pie-eating contest that my husband had won a few years back. It had fake pie stains splattered all over it. I often wear my husband’s things. That’s one thing husbands are for. Opening jars, killing bugs—although Rudy is as scared of spiders as I am—warming your feet on in the middle of the night, and lending you their extra-big clothes.
“And I would be her best friend and trusty sidekick.” Collette stood and held her hand out. Right, I thought. Just as long as there aren’t any tractors involved. “You can call me Collette.”
He smiled and kissed her hand. Then he looked back to me.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, and then wondered if that was a good thing to say to a hit man or not. Probably not. I wondered if I should add “within reason.” Mr. de Rosa sat in the chair that Collette had just vacated. He adjusted the button on his jacket and then checked for dirt under his nails.
I wasn’t about to offer my assistance again. I’d wait him out. Finally he smiled, and I swear a spark of light glinted off one of his front teeth. “Rumor has it that you’re the woman to see around here, Torie. Do you mind if I call you Torie?”
“Uh …”
“I want you to keep an eye on Tiny Tim for me.”
“The tobacco shop owner?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I can make it very much worth your while.”
“I don’t need any money, Tito. Can I call you Tito?” There was no doubt that the way to stay one step ahead of crooks was to make sure that you didn’t owe them anything or need what they were offering. This man thought I could be bought, because most people can be, but he had nothing on me.
“All right, then, if you watch Tiny Tim for me, I’ll make sure nothing bad befalls your family,” he said.
Okay, there was that.
Collette just stood there with her mouth open, gaping at this man.
“What exactly do you mean by ‘watch him’?” I asked.
“I have reason to believe that Tiny Tim is conducting business in this town,” he said.
I played stupid. I played like I did not suspect him of being a mafioso. I played like I had no idea Colin had confiscated his Glock. I did not for one second think that this man didn’t have another weapon with him. “Yes, he’s opened a tobacco shop,” I said, and smiled at him sweetly.
He smiled back at me, but it never reached his eyes. In fact, I saw genuine malice behind those dark lashes of his. “Let me rephrase that. I believe he’s conducting illegal business in this town.”
Collette laughed with her mouth open, slapped her hand on her knee, and then struggled to regain control when she realized she was the only one laughing. “In New Kassel?” she asked. “Nothing illegal ever happens here.”
I glared at her.
“Okay, well the occasional murder,” she said, “but nothing else. In fact, I happen to know that everybody in this town actually pays their taxes on time.”
Mental note to self: Inquire about Collette’s sources.
“At any rate, Torie,” he said, “Tiny Tim’s business is my business. Well, let me just say that I believe something he’s involved in is directly related to something that I’m involved in. His actions could alter my actions. I need you to let me know if he begins to behave unusually.”
“First of all, I don’t know any two-bit crooks, so I won’t know if his behavior is weird. I have nothing to compare it to,” I said. Tito de Rosa began stroking his chin. It looked like it might be a nervous habit, something he would do just before he whacked somebody. “Second of all … well, I had something else to say, but now I seem to have forgotten it.”
He smiled, and then I remembered. “Oh, and the sheriff has sicced his new deputy on Tiny Tim. So if I’m caught snooping on Tim, she’ll know and go tell the sheriff.”
He seemed to think about that for a minute, as though it could be a serious kink in his plans, or maybe I read something there that wasn’t there. “Just tell me what you see,” he said.
“Like what?” I asked.
“A late-night rendezvous. If he fails to open his store on time. If he leaves town. If he begins to have some … unseemly company in his shop. Call me.”
“Unseemly,” I said.
“He means more of his type,” Collette said. “Shiny shoes and suits.”
Shiny shoes did seem to be a dead giveaway. I don’t think any man I know in this town has shiny shoes—except maybe the pair that Tobias uses for church, but he only wears them on Sunday. Shiny shoes on Sunday seem to be acceptable. Of course, in other parts of the world, the corporate world, for example, men with shiny shoes are an everyday occurrence, but not here in New Kassel. Shiny shoes in New Kassel mean shifty.
