Throw in the Trowel (19 page)

“Directed toward you?” Marco asked.

“No, just to women in general. The things they were saying got some guys on the stools around them riled up and they started arguing, and pretty soon some punches were thrown and threats were made and then it was like an explosion of fists. It got crazy.”

“I heard some of the things those two guys were saying,” Chris chimed in. “And with smiles on their faces, too. I agree with Mary. I think they came in here purposely to cause a fight.”

“I heard them making racial jokes,” Gert said. “I told them to knock it off or take a hike.”

“Did you alert Rafe as to what was going on?” Marco asked.

All three of the employees shot Rafe an uncomfortable glance. Then Gert said, “It all happened so fast, Marco, no one had a chance to react.”

It was easy to see that they were covering for Rafe.

Marco waited for his brother to say something, but when he didn't, Marco didn't press him. “What's the damage report?”

“Nothing major,” Gert said. “Broken bottles and some glasses, sticky floors and stools, probably some customers with bruises.”

“Thank goodness my insurance is up-to-date,” Marco said. “All right, everyone, thanks for cleaning up. As soon as you're done, you can go home.”

Rafe said in a sheepish voice, “Do you want me to stay behind?”

“No, I don't,” Marco replied, his chilly glance making it clear he was in no mood to deal with Rafe tonight. He slid in beside me and said to Reilly, “Who called you?”

“Your brother,” Reilly said. “It was about over when we got here, and the two instigators were long gone. I did get statements from a couple of your customers, and someone even had the presence of mind to take photographs, so I'll write up a report and put out an alert in case the idiots show their faces around town.”

Marco ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head as though he couldn't believe the brawl had happened. He shot me a look of exasperation, so I put my arm around his shoulders and said, “At least the damage was minimal, Marco. It could have been a lot worse.”

“But what was their purpose?” Marco asked. “Just to start a fight?”

Rafe stopped at the booth, a dustpan full of glass shards in his hand, and said guiltily, “I guess I should tell you now, Marco, that after the cops came I went to the storage room to get the brooms and found the back door open.”

“Damn it, Rafe,” Marco said through gritted teeth.

“It's not my fault,” Rafe said. “I checked on it earlier and it was shut tight, honest.”

Marco looked at his other employees and all nodded in agreement.

“What about the cooks?” Marco asked.

“I asked,” Rafe said. “They said they hadn't been out to the bins yet. It was too early.”

“Someone must have opened it from this side,” Reilly said.

“Who would have done a stupid thing like that?” Gert asked.

Marco was out of the booth so fast, Reilly and I stared at each other in surprise. I saw him head up the hallway and knew immediately where he was going.

Reilly and I followed him to the basement. Marco had already turned on the light over the hole and was standing at the edge. The yellow tape was still intact, but the dirt looked like it had been raked with some kind of tool.

“I'll be damned,” Reilly said, and took out his cell phone to snap photos.

“Someone was paid to start that fight,” Marco said. “He propped the back door open to let someone else get down here.”

“It has to be the same thief who took the bones,” I said. “I'll bet he was looking for something he left behind.”

“Hello?”

Hearing a familiar voice, I turned toward the stairway just as Connor MacKay stepped into the basement, smiling broadly. “Hey, it's a party and I wasn't invited. I hear there was trouble tonight.”

“Nothing to see here, MacKay,” Reilly said, stepping across the yellow tape to reach him.

“This little hole proving to be a trouble magnet?” Connor asked.

“Out,” Reilly said, backing him toward the steps.

Connor pointed to me, mimed talking on a phone, and mouthed,
Call me.

“Don't hold your breath,” I said.

“Wait, Reilly,” Marco said. “MacKay, do you want a statement?”

“Are you kidding me?” Straightening his khaki shirt, Connor took a minirecorder out of his pocket and clicked it on. “Fire when ready.”

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I want this to end, Abby. I'm not going to put my staff in jeopardy any longer.”

Another reference to jeopardy. I wished Marco would stop using that word.

Marco gave Connor a brief rundown of the break-in, then concluded with “A surveillance camera is being installed today on both the main and the basement level. There will not be a repeat occurrence.” He said to Connor, “Print that in your paper tomorrow.”

“But you're still on the hunt for the killer, right?” Connor asked.

“Still?” Marco asked. “I never said I was in the first place.”

“Move it along, MacKay,” Reilly said. “I'll make sure he finds his way out, Marco.”

“Thanks, Sean.” Marco glanced at me. “Are you getting the picture now, Abby? We have a desperate person on the loose who's not above hiring accomplices and breaking in on a crowded Saturday night. I don't know if that person found what he or she was looking for, but I want you to take a break and let me handle it from here on out.”

“No, Marco. I won't do that. Being a team means we're in it together.”

“Abby, please listen.” He cupped my face and gazed into my eyes. “Do you understand that the thought of something happening to you tears me up inside?”

“I understand, and I'll be as careful as I know how, I promise.”

“Then also promise me you won't do any investigating without me at your side.”

“You don't actually want to sit with me at the Duchess's studio while she sculpts Seedy, do you?”

“Do I want to? No. I wish we weren't even in this damn case. But you're not going alone. So do I get your promise?”

I thought he was overreacting to the danger level, but I made the promise. After all, marriage was all about compromise. Darn it.

We shut off the lights and returned upstairs, where Rafe was still cleaning. Everyone else had gone and the place looked tidy, so I had a feeling Rafe was hoping for a chance to make amends with his brother.

“What are you still doing here?” Marco snapped.

“I wanted to apologize for what happened,” he said. “I did everything by the list. I swear I did, Marco.”

“And yet someone got inside and was downstairs long enough to dig through the dirt.”

“I don't know what else I can say,” Rafe said.

Marco just looked at him, then turned and walked toward the back hallway. “Let's go home, Abby. Rafe can lock up. I hope.”

“That was cruel,” I said, as we got into the car. “How was Rafe supposed to know that the brawl was a diversion? Would you have known?”

“It's not about me.”

“You're right. It's about your brother, who has very little experience with this type of thing. Yes, he keeps screwing up, but I wouldn't have thought to run to the back door when a fight broke out. Would you?”

“He wouldn't even answer me when I asked what he knew, Abby. Why wasn't he on top of things? What was he doing? Flirting again? That's what he seems to do best. How many times am I supposed to look the other way when he screws up? I wouldn't tolerate it from the rest of the staff. Why should I from him?”

Marco had a point, of course. “Then train someone else to be your manager.”

He was silent as we made the trip home. But after parking at the curb in front of the apartment, he reached for my hand. “You're right, Abby. I wouldn't have thought to check the back door after a fight that broke out in the bar. Maybe I was too harsh with Rafe in this instance, but I think I will take your advice and advertise for a new manager. Thanks for being my voice of reason, Sunshine. I need you to keep me balanced.”

That was one of the sweetest things he'd ever said to me. “Funny about that,” I said. “I've always felt that you kept me balanced, too. It's one reason why we make a great team, Salvare.”

Marco

•   •   •

Team Salvare. My wife doesn't understand how those words paralyze me with dread. She knows I love her, but she can't comprehend how strong that love is or what I'd do for it because I can't talk about those things with her. I'm afraid I'd scare her.

I've always had nerves of steel. Coolheaded, cold-blooded, my army buddies used to say. Killer instincts that came in handy as a Ranger, although I know Abby would disagree.
You don't fool me, Salvare,
she said once
. You're a lamb in wolf's clothing.

At first I didn't know how to take her remark. I'd always liked the image of me as the Big Bad Wolf, although
badass
was more my style. It works to my advantage as a private eye. Abby saw the gentle lamb inside only because she brought it out in me. I preferred that news not get around, however. I value my tough reputation. A man of few words, Abby calls me.

I would say I'm a man of just enough words, but I don't mind her label because it isn't a put-down. Abby never puts me down. I don't know if she realizes how important respect is for a guy. Unlike other women I've dated, Abby has never tried to take me apart and put me together in a better way. She likes me the way I am, flaws and all.

Well, except for a few minor things, but she needs to correct a few things, too. That's what's great about Abby. She believes in cooperation and compromise, and she gets it that people can have differences, arguments even, and still love one another deeply. In fact, she got it before I did.

But with that love comes the onerous responsibility of protecting her, and my gut instinct keeps telling me this investigation is putting her in jeopardy. Problem is, once Abby makes up her mind, there's no turning her back. So what can I do but take every step possible to keep her safe?

I turned to my wife, the woman I'd give my own life for. “Let's go see what our newest team member has been up to. It can't be any worse than what we just left.”

Abby

I
t was amazing—make that shocking—what one little dog could do in a matter of three hours. For instance, she could drag every single shoe from the bedroom closet and the shelves by the fire exit door and pile them at the front door, making it nearly impossible to get inside. She could carry one end of the toilet paper from the bathroom to the front door, leaving a white path in her wake. She could pluck out a whole wastebasket of dirty tissues and make a small offering of them at the door. She could even pull down every towel from the bathroom and kitchen and pile them on top of the shoes.

In Seedy's case, she did all four, then stood proudly beside them, wagging her tail and giving a proud yip as we pushed our way inside, making it hard to scold her. But scold her I did, because we didn't want to encourage her. With her tail drooping, she crouched down and flattened her ears against her skull, watching us with the saddest expression I'd ever seen.

“She seems to like to bring things to us,” I said.

“They're gifts,” Marco said. “She thinks she's honoring us.”

My cell phone rang, so I dropped the shoes to get it. “Let's hope this is good news.”

“Aunt Abby?” Tara whispered. “You'll never guess who's at the sleepover. Haydn Cannon's sister, Hannah. Guess what she told me. That her dad's been acting weird, arguing with her mom, which he hardly ever does, and going into work early and staying late. Plus he keeps making private phone calls to her aunt in Maraville, and he doesn't even get along with her!”

“How did you get this information?” I asked.

After a hesitation, she said, “We were just, you know, talking about stuff.”

“Stuff like the bones in the basement and how they might be connected to the Cannons?”

Silence.

“Tara, do you recall us telling you that this is a dangerous situation?”

“Don't you trust me, Aunt Abby? I'm not going to say anything stupid. Hannah doesn't suspect a thing. Oops. Gotta go. Our pizza is here.”

“Tara, please be careful!” I said, but she had already hung up. “She's conducting her own investigation, Marco,” I said, when he came back for more shoes. “What am I going to do to stop her? We've warned her. She knows the danger involved, but she's not taking it seriously.”

“Wow. I wonder where she gets that trait. You know how I feel about this case, Abby. I think it warrants bringing in her parents, but she's your niece. It's your decision.”

I scooped up the last pairs of shoes and followed him to the bedroom. “If I tell her parents, she won't ever trust me again, and I doubt they could stop her anyway.”

“So much like you, it's scary,” Marco said under his breath.

I sat cross-legged on the floor and began to sort shoes into a His pile and a Hers pile, although the His side didn't even qualify as a pile. “What if I told Tara that I'm pulling out of the investigation because it's too dangerous?”

“Here's an idea. What if you actually
did
pull out of the investigation because it's too dangerous?”

At my scowl, Marco said with a sigh, “I didn't think so. In that case, would it stop Tara?”

“It might. It's worth a call.”

“Why did she phone you?”

“To tell me that Doug Cannon's daughter, Hannah, who's also at the sleepover, told her that Doug was argumentative all week, stayed at work from early in the morning until late at night, and has been making private calls to his sister in Maraville, with whom he doesn't get along.”

“It sounds like we need to talk to Doug's sister. I'd like to hear her version of her father's disappearance anyway. I'll do some digging tomorrow to find out where she lives.”

Seedy slunk up to me and dropped a used tissue in my lap as a peace offering, then raised her hopeful eyes to mine, as though to say,
Do you still love me?

What could I do but gather her close and hug her?

Sunday

•   •   •

I hadn't yet convinced Marco to attend church with me, so I sat with my parents.

“I tried to call you last night,” my mom whispered as we waited for the service to start.

Oops!
Her voice mail. I'd completely forgotten to listen to it. “Sorry,” I whispered back. “We went to see a movie and then had some . . . problems to take care of at the bar. And then it was too late to call you. What's up?”

“Didn't you listen to my message?”

I gave her a please-don't-hate me shrug. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“I invited you to dinner today at five. Your brothers and their families are coming. I'm going to make a pork roast with all the trimmings.”

“It sounds great, but can I take a rain check? We already have dinner plans.”

Her lower lip came forward. It was her hurt expression. “It wouldn't be with Marco's family, would it?”

I gazed at her in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Francesca invited your father and me, too. I hope you'll save next Sunday for us—or will you be dining with them on every Sunday from now on?”

Great. Now we were going to have Sunday dinner wars. “I'll save next Sunday for you, Mom. We don't have standing dates with anyone.”

Mom patted my hand. “Thank you, honey. I'm sorry I didn't make it to Bloomers with my new art yesterday, but it wasn't ready in time. So you'll get it tomorrow after school.”

Amen?

After the service, I found Tara talking with a group of her friends and motioned her over to the side. “You have to stop investigating,” I whispered.

“Why? I'm not in any danger.”

“Tara,
I'm
pulling out. Marco says it's getting too risky even for me now.”

“You are not,” she said with a grin. “You love to snoop.”

“Let's refer to it as investigating, please, and yes, I do love it, so you see how serious the situation is.”

“I don't get it. Haydn and Hannah are really nice, and you don't get that way by having bad parents.”

“Tara, it's too complicated to discuss here in church. Promise me you won't do any more snooping—yes, I said ‘snooping'—until we talk again.”

She studied my face. “You're really worried about me.”

“Someone broke into Marco's bar again, Tara, and it's connected to the murder. That's all I'm going to say for now. Just promise, okay?”

She hesitated, then said, “Okay.”

“What are you two whispering about?” my brother Jordan asked, putting his arm around my shoulders.

Tara and I looked at each other; then she said, “Yogurt,” just as I said, “Ice cream.”

“We were having a debate about them,” I added.

“Who won?” Jordan asked.

I glanced at Tara. “I did.”

“For the time being,” she said with an impish grin.

•   •   •

With Marco's experience at tracking people, it wasn't hard to discover the names and whereabouts of Kermit's daughters. Thanks to social media, Marco also discovered that Rona, the daughter who lived in nearby Maraville, was divorced, using her maiden name, and working at the Macy's store at the shopping mall. So on Sunday afternoon we made the thirty minute trip to the mall with Seedy and searched the ladies' department for a sales employee who matched the photo we had found online.

“Once we locate Rona,” Marco said as we circled the store, “Seedy and I will make ourselves scarce.” He stopped and turned me to the left. “There she is.”

We stood near a rack of jeans so I could study her. Like Doug, Rona was tall and had brown hair, but she was much heavier and more jowly than either her brother or her Internet photo.

“I'm not certain how to start a conversation about her dad,” I said.

“You could notice her name tag and claim to remember someone with her name.”

“How would I know a woman her age?”

Marco pulled out the Web page he had copied. “She has a daughter named Karin who appears to be in high school. Maybe she knows Tara.”

“If they live in Maraville, the girls go to different high schools. That won't work.”

“She lists her hobbies as knitting and baking.”

“Neither of which I do.”

“Then just strike up a conversation and see where it leads you. You're inventive.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Seedy and I will be in the mall. Text me when you're done.”

I sorted through the rack of jeans, trying to come up with an opening line before Rona got busy with another customer. I moved on to a display of sweaters, saw her coming toward me, and grabbed the closest garment. Fortunately, it was my size.

Rona walked up to me and said with a smile, “Finding what you want?”

“I think so.”
Speaking of finding things, can I tell you what I found in my husband's bar's basement the other day?

Nope. Too insensitive. I held a turquoise sweater with a boatneck against my front, as though checking it for size. “I wear a medium, but this medium seems small.”

S
peaking of being small, when you were little, do you remember when your dad ran off with another woman?

I looked into her kind eyes and knew I couldn't do that to her.

“Why don't you try it on?” Rona asked. “The dressing room is right over there. My name is Rona if you need any help.”

Speaking of help . . .
“Um, Rona?”

“Yes, dear?”

I had to find a way to ease into the subject. “Would you stick around and give me your opinion? I don't see my husband anywhere.”

With her okay, I scurried into the dressing room, shrugged out of my denim jacket, pulled the sweater on over my white long-sleeved T-shirt, and hurried out again.

“What do you think?” I asked, modeling it for her.

“It's perfect,” Rona said. “The style suits you and that color is great with your hair.”

I gazed at my reflection, pleasantly surprised. Not only did it accentuate my hair, but it also minimized my bust line. And how many times did that happen? “It is perfect, isn't it?”

Speaking of perfect . . .

Nope.
I had nothing. I sighed in frustration.
For heaven's sake, Abby. Find an opening
.

“I love your boots,” Rona said. “Where did you get them?”

And there was my opening.

“I got them at a store in New Chapel called Blazing Saddles.”

She brightened at the mention of Rusty's shop. “My stepdad owns that place.”

I pretended to be shocked. “Rusty Miller is your stepdad? My husband bought Down the Hatch from Rusty. In fact, we saw him yesterday. Rusty's an amazing guy for being, what, seventysomething, isn't he?”

Rona smiled. “He
is
an amazing guy, and a great stepdad, too. He was always so good to us kids.”

“Did Rusty raise you?”

“I guess you could say that. More so for my sister and me. My brother was almost out of the house when Rusty married my mom.”

“Oh, did your dad pass away?”

She gave me an odd look, as though she found my question intrusive but didn't want to say so. “No,” she said lightly. “My mom divorced him.” She moved to the next display table and began refolding T-shirts.

I had to find a way to get more information. “I think I'm going to have to buy this,” I said.

“I'm sure your husband will love it.”

“I think so, too. I'll be right back.”

I changed out of the sweater and took it to the cash register to pay. As Rona rang up my purchase, I said, “So do you live in New Chapel?”

“No. I moved away quite a few years ago.”

“I think I'd miss it if I moved away. I was born and raised there.”

No comment.

I signed the credit card slip and handed it to her. “Do you see Rusty often?”

“Not as much as I'd like, but I may have to drive out there to get a pair of those boots.”

“He has a big selection. Rusty actually picked these out for me.”

Rona didn't appear to be interested in making conversation. She kept glancing around as though she were hoping to find other customers to wait on. But it was just Rona and me, and if I didn't act fast, it would be just me.

“So if you're Rusty's stepdaughter, then you have a brother named Doug, right?”

She looked at me curiously. “Yes. Do you know Doug?”

“I met him just recently. And of course Rusty talks about him. In fact, from what he told us, he took Doug under his wing at a time when he really needed a dad.”

Rona's smile stiffened. “Rusty was always there for Doug.” She handed me the receipt and a shopping bag with the sweater inside. “Thanks for coming in.”

Unable to come up with anything else to say, I dug through my purse and found a business card. “I own a flower shop on the square called Bloomers. Come in to see me, and I'll give you a discount.”

“Thank you. That's very kind.”

I walked away, then stopped in front of a display of shirts so I could glance back. Rona was watching me, a puzzled look on her face.

I left the store, glancing around for Marco, and saw him and Seedy standing to one side of the pretzel shop. “Want a bite?” he asked me, holding out a partially eaten crusty pretzel.

I tore off a piece. “I didn't have much luck getting information. When I first mentioned Rusty's saddle shop, Rona seemed delighted, but then after I asked a few questions it became apparent that she wasn't interested in talking about Rusty or Doug. All she would say was that Rusty had been there for Doug.” I popped the bite in my mouth.

“Do you think she suspected anything?”

“I don't think so.”

Marco crouched down in front of Seedy to adjust her leash. “Don't look now,” he said, “but Rona is standing behind a big potted plant watching us.” He raised his head. “And she just took your picture with her cell phone. Yep, she suspected something.”