BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead (8 page)

“Your reputation?” I slid one step away from him, along the counter top. Beagle Annie noticed my movement and came to stand between Hambecker and me. I heard the low grumble of her warning growl, but I don’t think he did.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when I hang out around you. Very hard on the rep, and you wouldn’t believe the ribbing I’ve been taking. Don’t make any challenges you don’t want me to take. I’m thinking snatching you from under the watchful eye of Tom Maverick would go a long way toward restoring the faith.” He took another step forward, his eyes on mine again.

Oh, brother
.

“Okay then, not a challenge, just a statement.” I waved him away. “See you later. I’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He was gone before I realized I was holding my breath. Damn. I sucked in air and watched his SUV drive away throwing a rooster tail of dust in its wake. I’d gotten one thing from our little tussle. He wanted me to stay out of Ronnie Hart’s house.

Which meant there was something there to see.

Chapter Six

An hour later, I was dressed in black jeans, bright blue girl-cut tee, black leather jacket, motorcycle boots, and I had my gloves and helmet in my hand. One way to keep myself from drinking too much free beer was to ride my motorcycle. It was always safety first with my dad, and it stuck.

The phone rang as I was about to step out the door. I debated answering for a moment, then dropped my helmet and gloves on the table and picked up the phone.

Silence.

“I’m about to hang up the phone so if you want to talk to me you’d better speak.”

I thought I heard faint breathing.

“Okay then.” I hung up the phone.

It hadn’t rained in ages so the roads were dry. I made good time down the hill, felt the cool rush of air as I crossed the river and pulled the bike up onto its center stand on the sidewalk in front of the insurance agency. Parking would be at a premium tonight.

The bar was already packed when I walked in. Grant stood in a circle of people near the bar, but he noticed and shot me the thumbs-up. I sent him a smile and returned the thumbs-up, searching for a place where I wouldn’t be jostled too much.

Claire flagged me down and I joined her at a pub table in front of the window. The waitress plunked a couple of pints on the table and took our food order. There were a couple of empties, so I bussed the table to give us more room and sat down, resting my heels on the rung of the stool.

“Glad you’re here,” Claire started but then glanced behind me and smiled.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Grant standing behind me, his surfer hair curling up from his head like a slightly younger, curly-haired Channing Tatum. He still had the thin wiry body of a young athlete with none of the bulk men sometimes develop as they mature. He was probably five or six years behind me in school, so I didn’t know him well. But everyone in town knew of him. He was like the Law School, one of our claims to fame.

“Doing all right, ladies?” he asked. “Drink as much as you like, it all on me tonight – and it doesn’t have to be beer. If you’d rather a mixed drink, go for it. Let me know if any of these yahoos bother you, I’ll take care of it. Can’t have the hometown girls getting hassled.”

Having done his social duty Grant melted back into the crowd. Claire and I called our thanks after him, and Claire sighed.

“When did we get too old for guys like that?” she asked as we watched Grant sling his arm around a woman barely out of high school. But then he slung his other arm around a woman almost old enough to be my mother and planted a kiss on her.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe were not too old. He’s an equal-opportunity… what’s the word? I don’t want to say
womanizer
. I don’t think it’s that.”

“Flirt?” Claire asked.

“Yeah, an equal-opportunity flirt.” Whatever we labeled him, he was lifting the atmosphere in the bar. Even I was relaxed and having a good time until a hand dropped on the back of my neck and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Hambecker,” I said when I looked to see who had disturbed my bliss. “I didn’t know you hung out with the locals.”

“Occasionally. I saw your bike outside. You’re not drinking and riding.” It wasn’t a question, but I could tell he was puzzled.

“One beer,” I motioned to my glass, “and soda. You can stop worrying.”

“I wasn’t worried. Just surprised.” He snagged a stool from the next table and sat down with us. “What’s the occasion? This place isn’t usually packed like this.”

“Grant Fraser, that’s him over there. The guy with his arm around the dark haired girl.” I said.

“The surfer dude,” Claire added.

“The tall guy,” Hambecker said.

“Yeah, the tall guy. He’s a Formula 1 racer. Grew up here. Whenever he wins big he flies back to town and it’s free drinks and racing stories until the bar closes. See, he’s telling one now.”

Grant’s free hand was driving an imaginary car, while his mouth was going a mile a minute. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it had to be good because the crowd around him roared. He grinned, released the brunette and took a swig from a glass on the bar. I’d watched the bartender pour it. He was drinking soda water.

“You want to meet him? I’ll introduce you,” I said.

Grant was charming. He looked slightly taken aback at Hambecker’s bulk, but he rallied. “Bree, got yourself a body guard?” He stuck out his hand and the ensuing handshake was some moronic male test of strength, but they were both grinning. When they broke the grip Grant maneuvered himself so that he stood between Hambecker and me and threw his arm around my shoulder. He planted a kiss on my cheek and I watched to see if Hambecker would object.

But Hambecker launched into a discussion of some other Formula 1 driver they apparently both knew. My eyes glazed over and I wondered if I could slip out from under Grant’s arm and go sit down. But when I went to disengage myself Grant tightened his hold and I drifted, not paying attention to the shop talk.

I felt Grant’s arm loosen about the time he said, “Nice meeting you, man. Let me know if you want to come to the races and I’ll get you a hot pass.”

I want a hot pass
.

“Thanks, Grant, I’ll do that,” Hambecker said, and he draped his arm across my shoulder during the pass off. He led me back to the table where Claire was chatting with one of Grant’s pit crew. My drink had disappeared and I was about to go up to the bar for another when Hambecker plunked a beer in front of me.

“Thanks,” I said, “but I can’t. I already had a beer.”

“That had to be a couple of hours ago, you could probably have another.” He tipped back his mug and drank.

“One’s my limit when riding, thanks.”

“You can ride home with me.” He leaned against the window watching me. He had that danged half-smile on his face again and alarm bells were going off in my head.
There be monsters here
.

Only it was more like
there be heartbreak here
.

“You’re going the wrong direction.” I smiled and kicked myself down off the stool. “Anyhow, it’s time for me to go home. I forgot to feed Stripes before I left. Wouldn’t want the resident skunk getting mad, would I?”

“Guess not.” He looked sorry I was leaving. Huh. I was kind of happy about that.

***

The little bit of information that Hambecker had thrown my way the day before got me thinking about connections. Ronnie’s brother was connected to the mob in New York City. Ledroit came from New York looking for a man named Puccini. A Bulgarian assassin was found dead in the Planet Hair, which Ronnie cleaned. Someone dangerous and powerful had smuggled the assassin over the border. The mob was dangerous and powerful and could be from New York. A coincidence? Maybe, but I didn’t think so.

Instead of parking in the lay-by the next morning, I pulled onto a dirt track that the farmer used to pull his tractor into the orchard. The shrubs along the edge of the road were overgrown and all I had to do was park behind them and my truck was invisible. I tossed the paper plate from the sticky bun I’d picked up at the café on the seat, got out and followed the same path out through the field, but this time I headed straight for the house. I’d taken a good look at the yard when I’d driven by and I knew from my earlier experience that the shed was too full of junk to hold a vehicle.

I walked straight up to the door and knocked loudly before I tried the handle. I pressed my ear to the door and listened intently for a couple of minutes, hoping nobody came driving by and wondered what I was doing. As I expected, the door was unlocked and I slid in and shut it behind me. I stood in the quiet kitchen for a moment, contemplating locking the door from the inside. I decided that locking it would be a huge red flag to anyone coming to the door, so I left it.

I stood in the kitchen listening to the silence for several minutes. I heard my heart pounding and a tractor chug by out on the road, but nothing else. I stepped quietly through the kitchen to the living room. The shades were drawn against the summer sun making the room dim and cool. The floor was odd, bare wood, which was pretty normal except it was shiny and new in the middle and dull around the edges. The couch looked old and comfy, draped with a tan slipcover and dotted with throw pillows.

A child’s stuffed doll was hanging off the cushion, its arms and hair dangling. I was tempted to pick the doll up and set her properly on the couch, but I stopped myself.
Touch nothing
, I told myself.
Disturb nothing
.

I crept from room to room. Signs of the family were everywhere: toys in the tub, Matchbox car in the hall. Even in the master bedroom, there was a stuffed bear on the bed and tiny fluffy pink slippers on the floor. The second floor housed a couple of unused rooms, a bathroom and a back bedroom which held only a dresser and mattress on the floor. The drawers in the dresser were empty, but a rumpled sheet and blanket were on the bed, and there was a dent in the pillow. It felt like someone was sleeping there but not inhabiting the room.

I started down the stairs debating with myself about searching the basement. The image in my head was of a damp dirt floor, fieldstone foundation and creepy-crawlies everywhere. There would be either an ancient furnace or a wood stove for heating the house in the winter. Not my idea of a fun place to hang out.

Before I was back on the main floor the crunch of gravel alerted me to a car pulling into the drive. I did a decent imitation of a dog on roller skates for about five seconds before bolting down the remaining stairs, into the kitchen and through the only door I hadn’t opened.

I was lucky. The door really did open onto the basement stairs and not a pantry or broom closet. I stood on the top step with my ear pressed against the door forcing myself to take slow, even breaths. My heart was pounding in my ears and my knees were quivering. Fear of discovery had just ratcheted up the stakes. A bunch.

A bang signaled the kitchen door being thrown open and I got ready to bolt down the stairs if I needed to. Then it occurred to me that by the time I’d realized I needed to move it would be too late. I inched down the dark stairs trying to keep to the edges so the stairs wouldn’t creak.

It was black at the foot of the stairs. I could hear cupboards being slammed shut in concert with muffled curses. Then the footsteps hurried out onto the porch and the door slammed. Silence blanketed the house again. I put my hand out, searching for the stair rail.

I crept back up the stairs and listened at the door. Quiet. I groped for the door handle, but it wouldn’t turn. It was locked from the other side. I thunked my head on the door, but the noise echoed and scared me. Had the door been locked when I came through it? I didn’t suppose it mattered how the door got locked, except if Ronnie had realized someone was in the house and the cops were going to show up. I’d have trouble explaining this one to them.

I felt around on the wall until I found a light switch and flicked it on. A single bulb over my head cast uneven light over the stairs. I was here, might as well explore the basement. I crept down the stairs, not entirely convinced I wanted to be in an old farmhouse basement. There’d be spiders, for sure, and probably rodents as well.

I don’t know why I was surprised to find that the basement had been renovated. The old flagstone was gone. The foundation and floors were cemented in. One side was an open area with trikes and skates, and a big table covered in crafts. Small windows ran along the top of the sill. Probably too small for me to squeeze through. No places to hide anything really, unless it fit in a small wooden toy box in the corner of the room. I didn’t want to see anything that could be hidden there. A couple of small pet dishes sat on the floor on the other side of the toy box.

I reminded myself that the dead body had already been found and trotted over and lifted the lid. I pulled a red velvet cape off the top. Under that was a magician’s hat, a very ratty stuffed bear, and a princess dress. I let out my breath. Nothing nefarious here.

I walked back past the stairs, over to the other side of the basement. This side had been divided into three rooms. The first was a doorless and scrupulously clean laundry area. The same little windows ran along two sides and I could see the front lawn and the road beyond that. I was startled to see the hay field I had come through clearly through the north widows. I’d have to remember that if I ever came back here. Of course, it could be seen from the other windows on this side of the house too, so what did it matter? There was a washer, dryer, a big table with stacks of tiny clothes neatly folded and cabinets above the machines. Pretty boring. I did a cursory look through the cabinets, which got me nothing but laundry products, canning jars filled with preserves and various odds and ends. I took a small basket off one shelf, but found only loose change, tiny toys and a watch, obviously pocket pickings.

The next two rooms had doors, which made me a little nervous, but I figured as long as I was there I really should take a look. A soft sound in the play area caught my attention and I considered going back for a second look, but it was probably the cat whose dishes I saw.