It's a Wonderful Knife (13 page)

“Well, I'd better get going. My parishioners will be coming in soon.”

“Yes.” I said, checking the clock on the wall. “It's almost time for the services.”

I should be over at St. Luke's of the Lake. St. Luke's was my and ACB's church. She was there now for the nine-o'clock Mass. At the coffee and cake gathering after the mass, ACB was going to ask about Roger Southwick and show the grainy picture that I took. Then she was going to meet me back here.

I had already checked out Darlene's desk and found a set of keys with a small tag labeled
DOOR TO APARTMENTS
. On another tag was a set of eight keys that read
APARTMENTS
.

I was one happy snoop.

This should be as easy as baking a cake.

My plan had to be executed with perfect timing. The Robinsons would be in church and so would Roger Southwick starting about eleven o'clock. We had a good hour to snoop around Roger's apartment without being seen.

Now, if only Antoinette Chloe would call from the back parking lot.

I took the laptops out of the box and plugged them in to charge. That was about the extent of my setup knowledge. I'd pay Ray to come down here. Or maybe Darlene knew how to set them up.

I passed the rest of the time scratching under my
cast with a yardstick. I couldn't wait for that thing to come off. I'd had it on for only a handful of days, but it felt like decades, and I was tired of wearing skirts. The bright Christmas socks that I chose to wear were a minor consolation because they made me laugh.

Speaking of my cast, I needed more time to get around than ACB, and I wanted to make sure we could make a quick getaway if necessary.

As I'd told Ty, I didn't have time for jail. So we couldn't get caught. We just couldn't.

My cell rang, and my heart began to race. “Trixie here.”

“Antoinette Chloe here. I'm parked way out back by the tree line, half in a snowbank. I hope I don't get stuck.”

“Why did you park way back there, then?”

“I thought it was a good idea at the time. And, by the way, none of the Catholics knew Roger. He's not from around here.”

“Okay. Thanks for trying. Now, let's get our plan under way. You sure you want to do this?” I asked. “I can do it alone.”

“We're in this together. I liked Liz, even though I understood where Margie was coming from. Besides, Liz doesn't have anybody else.”

“Meet you inside. By the door to the apartments. It's opposite the kitchen door.”

“Got it.”

I wore my coat and slung my purse across my body. After this, I was going to go home with ACB, just as Pastor Fritz wanted.

Leaving a note that read
“I'm going home after all. All my best, Trixie,”
I crutched my way to the back door.

On my way, I paused at one of the small windows to look into the church. Pastor Fritz was greeting everyone. Darlene was next to him. But where was Roger?

There he was. By the collection baskets and the big metal money hopper. It seemed as though he was either guarding the contributions with his life or was about to line his pockets. I hoped that someone was watching him.

I caught up to ACB, and, heart racing, I opened the steel door to the apartments.

“Let's do it,” I said.

Her flip-flops left a trail of water and small stones up the clean and dry stairs. My crutches and the boot I wore on my left foot left more prints.
Uh-oh.

Maybe we needed to wipe down the stairs before we left. I'd never thought of it.

By the time I reached the top landing and looked down a long, shiny hall, I didn't have any air left in my lungs. I handed ACB the other ring of keys as I tried to catch my breath.

“Can you make it down this hallway, Trixie?”

“Yes,” I said, looking at a couple of doors. “But how do we tell which apartment is Roger's? There are eight doors here. It's like a hotel. And there's nothing on any of the doors except numbers. So what do we do?”

“We get the keys out,” ACB said, holding a massive amount of metal in her hand.

She tried the first door and every key on the ring. The second to the last key worked.

“Here goes!” She opened the door and we both looked in.

“Nothing,” I said. “There's no sign of anyone living here. Let's try across the hall.”

The fourth key worked on that door. “Someone's living here.”

I swallowed hard. “Let's do it,” I whispered.

We walked in quietly. I started for the pack of mail on the coffee table, but then I noticed all the . . . huge trash bags. They were clear plastic bags, stacked tall and loaded to the brim with colorful little papers.

“Look at this, Antoinette Chloe. What on earth?” We both inspected the tower of bags.

“They're pull tabs,” I announced. “Like the ones they sell during bingo. You know, you pull the little tabs to see if you win . . . maybe get three cherries or bars . . . you know, like a slot machine. But these are all open!”

“Maybe these are the old ones from bingo,” ACB said.

“Why are they here, then, and not put out with the bingo trash?”

ACB snapped her fingers. “Roger Southwick must have an addiction to pull tabs. He sits here on the couch, gets a fresh order right from the vendor, and starts pulling.”

“Wow! That's a real addict! I wonder how much those towers of pull tabs cost Roger to buy.”

“Not a clue. I know at bingo here at the Community Church, they sell for a dollar each or six for five dollars. It all depends. They're probably more at bars.”

I shook my head and went to the kitchen, where there was a cute built-in desk with shelves above it. The shelves contained dozens of cookbooks. The desk was loaded with coupons, Frank Sinatra CDs, and fancy flowered stationery with
Darlene
lettered in tiny purple buds. I noticed a stack of mail on the desk and looked at the addressees.

“Uh . . . um . . . Antoinette Chloe, this apartment is Pastor Fritz's and Darlene's, not Roger's. These are all bills. A lot of bills—personal ones and what looks like church bills on Darlene's desk.” I took a peek at one, and it was stamped
THIRD
NOTICE
. Another was marked
SENT
FOR
COLLECTION
.

I wondered why Darlene wasn't paying the bills. I remembered the messages on Liz's ancient answering machine. The merchants were obviously desperate enough to call Liz for payment instead of dealing with Darlene again, who was obviously avoiding them. This seemed to have been going on for a long time.

Why wasn't Darlene cutting checks and sending them out?

“Let's get out of here, Antoinette Chloe, and find Roger's place.”

She was still staring at all the pull tabs, mesmerized.

I pulled on the sleeve of her muumuu. “C'mon.”

I checked over my shoulder to make sure that everything was in place, and we locked the door and went across the hall.

We were in on the first try. I opened the door slowly. “I think this is his place. It smells like oil and gas. It's probably from those gloves on the floor.”

“I can smell it.”

“I think he was working on the snowplow,” I said.

“Other than the smell, the place is immaculate.”

I looked at the clock on his stove. “We have to hurry. Let's look for a flash drive.”

We opened drawers, looked in his underwear drawer and in a small desk full of military fiction books. There was more military fiction on shelves in his bedroom and stacked in the bathroom.

“I think he was a marine,” ACB yelled from a small second bedroom. “He has all kinds of marine memorabilia. But I don't see a flash drive anywhere.”

“Me neither, but I think I found something even better.”

ACB flip-flopped toward me. “What?”

“Look!” I did a double take and picked up a picture in a fancy silver frame. “It's a picture of Roger Southwick with his arm around Darlene Robinson!”

“She doesn't seem his type.”

“That miserable man is no one's type,” I said. “I wonder what their relationship is.”

“Brother and sister? Cousins? Friends?”

I put the picture back and adjusted it so it was in the exact same spot.

“Let's go,” I said. “We're cutting this too close.”

We couldn't get the door locked for some reason. We tried with the key and with the button on the doorknob.

“Leave it,” ACB said. “Maybe he won't notice.”

“Oh, he'll notice all right.”

Finally we got it to work, and we hurried out of there. I sat down on the stairs and mostly slid down on my butt. It was quick . . . but painful. One good thing—I was cleaning our dirty footprints off the steps.

ACB waited for me and then bent over to lock the big steel door.

“What the hell are you two doing?” said a deep, gnarly voice.

It was Roger Southwick.

I moved to cover ACB, who was now done with the door. “My friend's flip-flop came off her foot, and she was just putting it back on. Why are you flipping out? And why are you swearing in church?”

He had the good sense to look uncomfortable.

“Uh . . . sorry . . . I thought you were going into the apartments.”

“Why on earth would you think that, Mr. Southwick? We have no reason to go up there,” I said, glaring at him. “Do you have something to hide?”

I loved seeing bullies back down, and he backed down.

“I have nothing to hide,” he said.

“Then let my friend put on her flip-flop so we can leave. Apparently I'm not needed in the office today,” I said, teeth gritted.

“Um . . . okay. See ya.”

I nodded and we made a quick exit.

When we got outside, I took several breaths of the crisp, cold air. “That was a close call.”

“I can't catch my breath, and I need a drink of water. Maybe it's an adrenaline dump,” ACB said.

I gulped the air. “One more second and we would have been caught by Roger.”

“And three more seconds, Ty would have caught us, too,” ACB pointed to the sheriff's car driving into the lot. “Angels are protecting us.”

We hurried to ACB's van and slid in.

Safe!

Or so I thought.

Ty pulled his car to a stop in front of ACB's van and shouted out the window, “What are you two doing now?”

O
h my!
Was there a silent alarm upstairs, or what?

My heart began to race and my face flamed.

“Oh crap.” Antoinette Chloe summed up my feelings perfectly.

“Um . . . uh . . .” I said eloquently. “We aren't doing a thing, Ty. Not a thing. Antoinette Chloe is just picking me up from work, and we're headed back to the Big House. We have a couple of salads to make for the auditions—a big chef and a fruit salad. No ham this time. I think we'll do baked ziti and meatball sandwiches.”

Ty probably didn't care what I was serving for the auditions—he'd eat anything. This was just a verbal checklist for my benefit as well as ACB's.

“Your aunt Stella told me you were here, Trixie. I know that I gave you the message from Pastor Fritz yesterday that you weren't needed today.”

“Did you? It must have slipped my mind.” I hoped that the dumb look on my face was convincing.

The look on his face was skeptical.

“Were you looking for me?” I asked him. “Or just patrolling the area?”

“I was looking for you,” he said, as my heart was going to leap from my chest.

“What for?” I squeaked out, but I wanted to yell,
Don't arrest me!

“I wanted to tell you that Margie Grace was released from the hospital this morning, and her husband took her home. Unfortunately she was still ranting about how she should have been asked to direct the pageant, and how she was overlooked when Liz was appointed director. And now she was overlooked again due to you. Her anger was directed at you, Trixie, and I wanted to warn you to be careful of her.”

“That woman doesn't know when to quit,” ACB said. “Poor thing. It's like she lost her identity as Sandy Harbor's First Lady of the Theater, or at least the First Lady of the Sandy Harbor High School Gymnasium.”

“Or the Community Church's . . . church!” I added.

“I'd like to think that she just has hurt feelings, but it seems to be more than that,” Ty said.

I sighed. “Ty, I think that we, or I, need to give Margie Grace something important to do in the Christmas pageant. Or Pastor Fritz can just appoint her as the director, and I can be her assistant and keep an eye on her.”

“How do you keep an eye on your back, Trixie?” ACB spewed. “If Margie gets distraught enough, her anger can escalate from throwing a cell phone—like she tried to at Liz—to maybe something more.”

“She's right.” Ty nodded. “I'll be keeping an eye on Margie, too, and so will the other deputies, but there's not enough manpower to put a guard on you, Trixie.”

“A guard? Because of Margie Grace?” I shook my head. “Aren't you both overreacting? I can take care of myself. I'm not afraid of her.”

“You never know what people can do when they get mad enough,” Ty said.

“Is Margie a suspect, Ty?” ACB asked.

Ty gave a slight nod. That was all we were going to get from him, and he was loath to give that much up.

“Trixie?” ACB rubbed her forehead.

“Yeah?”

“I think you're right. I think that giving Margie some job at the pageant would calm her down. And that way, we both can keep an eye on her.”

That was ACB's way of saying that she had my back.

“Just be careful” was Ty's warning as he got back into his car and drove away.

•   •   •

When we got back to the Big House, I found the Boca Babes, my parents, and Clyde and Max doing some kind of Zumba—or was it yoga?—in my living room. I'll just call it Zuga.

And lo, Margie Grace was leading the Zuga!

“Looks like they're having a good time,” ACB said. “And nothing seems to be broken yet.”

Crash!

Everyone froze in place.

First my Santa Claus mug. Then my turkey. Now my Lenox crystal bowl.

All my traditions. My favorite things for the holidays were falling apart. And I suddenly wanted to
burst into tears. While I realized that these were all material things, they meant something to me.

I bent over to take off my one boot, but mostly I was trying to hide my watery eyes and get myself together.

“Pass the hat,” Antoinette Chloe said, removing her plaid cape. “Trixie should be reimbursed for the bowl so she can buy another one to replace it.”

Aunt Stella helped me take off my coat. “Don't worry, honey. We'll make it good.”

“It's okay. It really is,” I said. “Excuse me a minute.”

I crutched to the bathroom off the laundry room and splashed cold water onto my face. What was wrong with me? Normally three broken things wouldn't send me over the edge. Oh yeah,
four
broken things—I forgot my broken leg.

“Honey?”

My mother. She could always read me.

“Honey, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Mom. Just give me a moment.” I filled the sink up with cold water, then dunked my face into it.

I was not going to feel sorry for myself. No way. A lot of people had it much worse than four broken things.

All these wonderful people had come to help me. I planned to put them to work and keep them busy.

When I finally came out of the bathroom, they were all sitting around the big oak kitchen table.

My father took my hand. “I know you won't take money from us, but the Babes and your mother will go shopping and replace your bowl. They will also look
for the turkey decoration that Antoinette Chloe broke and the Santa Claus mug that you broke.”

ACB must have told them about everything.

He hugged me close to him and kissed me on the cheek. “We can't replace your broken leg.”

“Thank you, everyone. I appreciate it. And I appreciate that you came to help me. I do have some things I need help with.”

“Just tell us, Trixie, and consider it done,” Aunt Stella said. “I know you always decorate the diner and the house. I know where the decorations are, so we'll take care of it.”

“And you need a tree in both places,” Clyde said. “Max and I will chop two down at Christmas Tree Acres.”

“Can we help?” one of the Babes said. I think her name was Marilyn. “I haven't chopped down a tree since I was a kid.”

“Sure. We'll make a day of it,” Max said. “Anyone who wants to go, meet here at noon tomorrow.”

Judging by the reaction, the entire room was going. I wanted to go, too, but there was no way I could walk around the field.

“So let's decorate the Silver Bullet now!” Mom said.

Everyone got up and migrated to the closet to put on their coats and boots. The men went downstairs to lug up the decorations.

After a while they were all out the door. Everyone except ACB, Margie Grace, and me.

“I'll be leaving now,” Margie Grace said. “But first I owe you an apology, Trixie.”

“Why's that, Margie?”

“Well, I realized that I may have said some callous things earlier, because I was angry.”

“Oh?”

“I did say that you were going to suck as pageant director, and I did say that you were going to be even worse than Liz Fellows. And I said that I couldn't wait until you were eliminated. . . .”

I wasn't going to play games with her. “Are you going to eliminate me, Margie?”

“I just meant gone from the pageant, not eliminated, as in . . .”

“Murdered?” I asked.

She grabbed at her throat. “Heavens, no!”

ACB grunted. “But Liz was murdered and now she's gone from the pageant. That should have made you happy, until Trixie was asked to run it.”

“No matter what our local law enforcement thinks, I didn't have anything to do with Liz's death. That's what I came here to tell you, but then we got to exercising. I had such a good time! I need to keep busy. That's why I wanted to direct the pageant. I realize that I miss people my own age.”

“Then move to Boca, Margie. Or run exercise classes for the seniors at the center. That would be wonderful.”

“It would be!”

Suddenly I felt sorry for her. She was just a lonely person and felt overlooked by the pageant committee.
The plays and pageants were her universe—they made her feel good, and now she was just adrift on Lake Ontario in a boat with no oars.

“Margie, I was going to ask you something. Do you think you could spare the time to help me with the pageant? It just seems so . . . overwhelming. I could use your help.”

Her face lit up, then darkened. “I'd love to help you, but do you really think anyone would want me around?” She shook her head. “Everyone thinks I killed Liz, but I couldn't kill anyone, Trixie. I just couldn't!”

“You think about it and let me know if you'd like to assist me.” Margie was getting teary. “How about if we call your husband to take you home?”

“Freddie is over at the Silver Bullet, so he's not far away. I'll walk over and join him.”

“I'll give you a ride over, Margie. It's icy,” ACB said.

“That's so nice of you!” She sniffed. “I guess I really do have friends.”

“Of course you do, Margie, so knock off the drama. And no throwing cell phones at Trixie!” ACB ordered.

“Yes, Antoinette Chloe.” She managed a little smile.

“And tell her that you'll help her out with the darn pageant already. You know you're dying to do it!”

“Yes, I am.” Margie laughed.

“But no salmon,” I added. “No salmon pulling Santa's sleigh. No salmon spawning or dancing. I know it's the official fish of Sandy Harbor, but there are no salmon at the North Pole and there were none in Bethlehem. . . . At least I don't think so.”

We all laughed together, and it cleared the air.

I didn't know whether Margie Grace could have killed Liz Fellows, but after this, I didn't think so.

•   •   •

When Antoinette Chloe returned, we started working on the salads and cooking ziti for those of us catering the auditions.

The kitchen was so humid and hot that we were wilting, so we opened some windows a bit.

“I keep thinking of that picture we found in Roger's apartment,” I said, taking a break with a Christmas cookie or ten. “The one with him in his marine dress clothes alongside Darlene.”

“Darlene looked so young back then.” ACB stirred the ziti noodles. “I like her with dark hair instead of that yellowish orange color she wears.”

“I am going to do an Internet search on his name,” I said. “Maybe there was some kind of article written when he went into the marines.”

“I'll get your laptop,” ACB said. “We can figure out how to do it together.”

“I think I can do it. Ray taught me. It seems to be logical.”

ACB walked over the several steps to the large office off the kitchen. It was Aunt Stella and Uncle Porky's office, and most everything still in it was theirs. I'd just added more clutter and a laptop.

She got the laptop, mouse, and mouse pad and set them in front of me on the table.

I knew we should be able to get the Internet, as Ray
had set up a network for me. There was one in the diner, too, and my customers loved it, especially when they couldn't get the Internet at their homes.

I remembered back around Valentine's Day how a bunch of reporters had set up shop at my diner so they could get the Internet and send in their reports. The place was hopping day and night.

Turning it on, I waited until it booted up. Then I double clicked the icon that Ray had told me to double click. The blue box showed, and I typed in “Roger Southwick.”

Amazing.

A miniature of the same picture was there along with the first few lines of a story. I clicked on that.

Easy peasy.

“And here he is!” I said, just awestruck at how far technology had come.

ACB looked over my shoulder and read, “‘The
Buffalo News
, Buffalo, New York: Local resident Roger James Southwick, twenty, recently graduated from the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina. Roger is a graduate of Buffalo High School, where he took business courses and was on the varsity football team. He resides with his parents, David and Julie Southwick, and has a sister, Darlene.'”

“Darlene!” we shouted together.

“Not a common name,” I added. “And, of course, this is a picture of her. She's obviously younger than he is.” I was getting excited. “That's probably how he got
the job. With his personality, no one else in their right mind would hire him.”

“Yes, but he did back down when you told him off.”

I looked for more information on Roger Southwick, but that was it. “You're right. All hot air and attitude, but, you know, a marine could have easily thrust that knife into Liz's back.”

“That's why we have to find out if Liz had something on him. That's why we have to find that flash drive!”

“And, my dear friend, let's talk about all those trash bags full of pull tabs in the Robinsons' apartment. And all those unpaid bills! Do you think one or both of them have a gambling problem?”

Antoinette Chloe shrugged. “Maybe all those used pull tabs were just recyclable paper that the Robinsons could get money for to put toward the church.”

I didn't want to think anything bad about the Robinsons, but then I thought about it more. “But what about all those unpaid bills?”

“Maybe Darlene just hasn't gotten around to paying them,” ACB suggested. “It is Christmastime, after all, and it's very busy at the church.”

We weren't getting anywhere.

“At least we know that Roger and Darlene are brother and sister,” I pointed out. “Although I don't know what that proves.”

“Me neither, but maybe it'll come in handy.”

“I wonder if Ty knows,” I said.

“That man knows everything.”

“I hope he doesn't know we broke into their apartments,” I said.