Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) (13 page)

I waved goodbye and rolled up my window.

I hit Monica’s number from my call history.

“Don’t have much time right now. What’s up?” Monica sounded hurried.

“I found a locked safety deposit box in Big Tommy’s desk, and Haley found his tax return. Can you bring over your work laptop?”

“Sure.” Monica must have opened a door, because now I could hear voices in the background.

I turned onto Highway 620, on my way to pick up Max. “Want me to pick up Landon?”

“Yes, I’m stuck in a meeting. I need to go back in. I’ll bring pizza, and we can discuss at your house.” Monica hung up.

If anyone could find out about the Lakeside African Relief Fund, it was Monica.

Forty-five minutes later, I pulled up to my small guesthouse, parked, and turned off the engine. “Okay, homework first and then Xbox.”

“We did our homework in extended care.” Max pushed his tortoiseshell glasses up. “What’s for dinner?”

“Monica’s bringing pizza.” I checked her latest text on my phone. “She should be here in ten or so minutes.”

I climbed out of the car, and a white piece of paper taped to my front door flapped in the evening breeze. I grabbed the folded piece of paper and ripped it off the door.

If this was an invitation to another off-Monday séance, this note was going to conveniently blow off my door and end up God knows where.

I unfolded it.

“Where’s the gold?” was hand printed in block letters. Unease tingled through me.

I stuffed the note in my pocket.

“What does it say?” Max watched me carefully.

I plastered on a fake smile. “Just a note from Astrid.”

I was pretty sure that the person who’d left this for me was talking about Molly’s gold, and I didn’t want Max to worry.

“Remember to take your backpacks and lunchboxes in.” I switched to my mom voice in order to avoid another two-week-old-missing-lunch-bag-left-under-the-backseat incident.

“Got ’um.” Landon nodded to me.

“Come on. Really? What are we, four?” Max rolled his eyes. While it was too dark for me to see him because he was standing too far outside of the porch light, I could hear it in his voice.

A pair of headlights turned into the driveway, and Monica’s Honda Civic parked behind Portia.

I couldn’t wait to talk to her. Someone wanted Molly’s gold, and they’d been to my house. I scanned the woods and the driveway, looking for anyone lurking in the dark. I didn’t see anyone, including Bautista, who I guessed was no longer following me. Lucky me—the one time I actually needed someone to follow me, and he was off the clock.

Monica juggled two large pizza boxes and her purse as she walked toward me.

I handed my house keys to Max. “Go on inside.” I took the pizzas from Monica and handed them to Landon. “We’ll be right in.”

Monica shot me a what’s-going-on look. I held up my right index finger, telling her to give me a minute until they were out of earshot.

My front door closed, and I pulled the note out of my pocket. “This was taped to my door.”

“Where’s the gold?” Monica looked over at me. “What gold? Molly’s gold?”

I shrugged. “Has to be. I certainly don’t have any gold.”

I put my hand on her arm and led her to the back of my car. I clicked the key fob, and the hatchback door lifted. “Here’s the safety deposit box.”

She picked it up and gently shook it. Whatever was inside rattled around. “I don’t think we should run over this one to open it like we did the others. I don’t suppose you found a key?”

“I wish.” I closed the back.

“Did you try the key we found a couple of weeks ago?” Monica followed me to the front door.

Along with the two safety deposit boxes we’d found at Molly’s house, we’d found a key that didn’t fit either of them. “I didn’t think of that.”

I’d forgotten about the key. I’d cleverly hidden it in my junk drawer with all of the other extra keys that I kept but had no idea what they opened. “Give me a sec and I’ll get it.”

We walked into the house to find both boys on the sofa with a box of pizza between them. The TV seemed to work fine with Xbox, so that was good. “Napkins please. And try not to get pizza grease all over the sofa.”

If I were a better mom, I’d chastise Max for eating on the sofa, but it would be sort of hypocritical since we ate on the sofa most of the time. Our kitchen table held backpacks, purses, mail, and PTO board meetings. Asking it to hold our food—it was simply too much.

I got the key from the junk drawer and handed it to Monica. I whispered, “Check it out.”

Five minutes later, she walked in carrying two handfuls of small, clear-plastic boxes. She glanced at the boys to make sure they weren’t paying attention, and then she dumped the boxes on my kitchen table. “The key worked.”

“What?” I must have said it kinda loud, because Max and Landon turned around to look at me.

“What’s wrong?” Max looked concerned.

“Ohhh...um...” I glanced at Monica for backup, but she looked away.

“Tampons are on sale at Target.” No idea where that one came from.

Landon’s brow screwed up. “What are tampons?”

Max put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Turn around and pretend that you didn’t hear my mom. Don’t ask what tampons are, because she’ll tell you. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

They turned around and resumed their game.

“So, you’re telling me that the key we got from Molly Miars’s mother fit the safety deposit box from Big Tommy’s office?” Why would Molly have given her mother the key to something she didn’t own right before she died?

I zeroed in on the plastic boxes in Monica’s hands.

“What are those?” I picked one up. It was lightweight, and something was handwritten on the front. “What does ‘80–82 Love Mix’ mean?”

“They’re cassette tapes.” Monica pointed to the one in my hand. “That’s a mixtape. My dad used to make them for my mom when they were dating. She kept some after he left, but she finally threw them away when her tape player died.”

So Molly had a key to a safety deposit box full of mixtapes? What value could these possibly have?

“Lulu—the second wife—said something about Big Tommy making her mixtapes.” I set the tape down on the table. “By the way, feel like bowling tomorrow night? Big Tommy’s exes have a bowling team, and they bowl every Thursday night. We’re invited.”

Technically, I’d invited myself, and no one had invited Monica or Haley, but we were going just the same.

“They get along?” Monica chewed on that thought for a second. “I can’t stand my ex, much less hang around with his exes.”

“Me too.” I shook my head. “I don’t get it either. I can’t believe that Big Tommy’s exes don’t hate him. Well, at least, the one I talked to today doesn’t hate him. I knew Big Tommy was likeable, but everyone needs a crazy ex or two just to spice things up.”

“If he really got along with all of them, why did none of his marriages work out?” Monica flipped open the pizza box and snagged a slice of meat lovers.

“You got me.” I picked up my own slice.

God, I love carbs.

Twenty minutes later, after all of the pizza was gone and the boxes were stuffed in the large green trashcan outside, I pulled out Big Tommy’s bills and his tax return. I handed the return to Monica, and I took the bills.

I pulled my one non-table-knife out of the knife block that held my scissors, pens, and pencils. I used the knife as a letter opener. I knew it was probably bad for the knife to cut paper, but at my house, that was the only thing it was ever going to cut. No chopping going on here.

I ripped through the first bill. It was from McCall Creek Farms and appeared to be for produce. “Did Big Tommy serve salad along with chili?”

“Not that I know of.” Monica thought about it for a second. “No. He only served chili with all of the fixin’s.”

“Why would he owe McCall Creek Farms $1,587.62 in organic produce?” Did chili have vegetables? And if so, why would he use local, organically sourced ones?

“That is odd.” Monica flipped another page of the tax return. “Maybe that’s where he got his beef too.”

“No, this is just for organic vegetables.” I leaned over to show her. “See?” I pointed to the line item that said “organic vegetables.”

“No idea. Maybe Big Tommy was into eating only organic.” Monica flipped another page of the tax return.

I put that bill down and picked up the next one. It was from Pedernales Electric. The one after that was from AT&T, then Sysco, Acme Restaurant Supply, ABC Pest Control, and R&C Waste Removal. There was another bill from Sysco and one from Brinks Home Security. I checked the address on that one. It was for his home. I guess every man’s home is his castle, but I was pretty sure no one around here, or anywhere for that matter, wanted to break into Big Tommy’s castle.

I checked the bills again.

“This is weird.” I shuffled through the stack of bills. “There’s no meat.”

“What?” Monica looked up from the tax return.

“There are bills for produce, spices, cleaning supplies, and utilities, but no meat. Isn’t that the main ingredient in chili?” How would I know?

“Yes.” A slow smile inched its way across Monica’s face. “Do you know what this means?”

“That Big Tommy has more bills that weren’t on his desk?” That was the only explanation.

“Well yes, that might be it, OR he went all Taco Bell.” Monica’s eyes turned huge. “That’s why he wouldn’t give out his recipe or even tell anyone the secret ingredient in his chili.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. “What does Taco Bell have to do with Big Tommy?”

I liked Taco Bell. Give me a Spicy Crunchwrap any day of the week and I’m a happy girl.

“Sawdust.” Monica smiled and nodded like I was supposed to know what she was talking about.

“Do I get more than one word?” No idea what she was talking about.

Monica looked at me like I was an idiot. “Cellulose. McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, and Taco Bell all use cellulose in their food. Cellulose is a plant-based fiber commonly found in wood.”

Talk about a buzzkill. I didn’t want to know that the companies that fed me and Max used anything but real beef in their food. If only I could rewind the last five seconds back to when I fed my child healthy, wholesome meals from McDonald’s and Taco Bell.

“What if the secret ingredient in Big Tommy’s Meaty Chili wasn’t meat at all?” Monica sat up. “What if it was sawdust? This could be the key to solving Big Tommy’s murder.”

Besides making me feel like the worst mother in the world, I failed to see how this was relevant. “Why?”

“What if someone found out and was blackmailing him, and when he didn’t pay up, that person killed him?” Monica was using her I-just-figured-it-out voice.

I didn’t want to rain on her parade, but it was thin at best. “That’s definitely a possibility, but we don’t know that Big Tommy was using anything but meat in his chili.” I let out a long, slow breath. “I guess we should go back to the Chili Parlor and look for some bills for meat. The day he blew up, he offered me chili made from venison. Maybe he killed all of his own meat.”

That wasn’t likely, just based on the sheer volume of meat he’d used. I didn’t remember seeing any filing cabinets, and we hadn’t found Big Tommy’s computer.

“Let’s put meat scandal on the list, but I feel like we need to keep digging.” I tapped the bundle of papers that was the tax return. “Find anything?”

“Just the Lakeside African Relief Fund.” Monica reached behind her and pulled her work laptop out of her red Coach tote that she’d bought at the Lakeside Thrift Store. She booted up the computer and googled Lakeside African Relief Fund.

The only hit was the Lakeside African Relief Fund’s website. It was a basic site with a couple of pictures and a whole lot of text. There were testimonials from various people in Africa and a vague mission statement about improving people’s lives. At the bottom was a little button titled “Meet the Staff.”

I pointed to it. “Click on that.”

Monica clicked on the button. A list of ten names popped up—no pictures or any information on them. She tried clicking on the individual names, but they were just text, no links.

“Is it odd that nowhere on the site does it tell you what the Lakeside African Relief Fund does?” Monica navigated back to the home page, trying to find information. “I would say this is bogus and maybe a tax shelter, but Big Tommy didn’t have any assets that needed to be sheltered.”

“Take a screenshot of the names and text it to me. Maybe if we research who these people are, we’ll find out what they do.” It was all I could think of.

My phone buzzed with Monica’s text. I pulled up the screenshot.

“Open a new window.” I zoomed in on the list. “The first name is Jennifer Domel.”

Monica googled her. The only thing that came up was a Facebook page. Monica clicked on it. There were several posts about working in Africa and lots of pictures of African landscapes and children in tattered uniforms playing with a soccer ball. There didn’t seem to be any pictures of Jennifer, assuming that Jennifer wasn’t a tattered-uniform-wearing African child. She didn’t even have a profile picture. “No pictures of Jennifer.”

“Maybe she was taking all of them and...I don’t know. That’s weird.” Monica hit the back arrow. “It’s really strange that she only has a Facebook page. There are no other references to her anywhere. Have you ever googled yourself?”

“Of course.” I had to do something with all of the extra time at work.

“Right, so how many people only have one hit to their name?” Monica pointed to the screen.

“Good point. I have like twelve hundred.” Not all of them are mine. Most are about my ex.

“What’s the next name on the list?” Monica pulled up a new search window.

I glanced down at my phone. “Roberto Ott.”

She typed his name into google, and only a Facebook page came up. “What are the odds that he wouldn’t have anything but a Facebook page?”

“It gets stranger and stranger.” He didn’t have a profile picture either.

Monica clicked on the pictures and then pulled up Jennifer’s page again. “Why do they have the exact same pictures?” She clicked back to Roberto’s page. “Yep, same pics and the very same posts.”