“So.” Mary grabbed another slice of pizza and turned to me. “What’s the plan? Do you need us to do a stakeout or act as lookouts while you dig through people’s files?”
“I’m not doing another stakeout.” Erica frowned. “No offense, Rebecca, but my ass is still asleep from the last time.”
“You’re probably feeling last night’s workout,” Anna said. “My butt cheeks are still tingling. Those squats George made us do were brutal. I thought practices were going to get easier now that the season was over.”
I heaved a relieved sigh as the derby girls exchanged complaints about George’s painful fitness regime. Butts, abs, thighs, and boobs all ached. George was on a quest to get his team into top shape in order to kick butt on next year’s circuit. He’d even given the team a list of eating dos and don’ts in order to ensure they built muscle tone.
“What list does pizza fall on?” I asked, watching Erica scarf her sixth slice.
“Pizza transcends lists.” Halle smiled and patted her stomach. “But to ensure we get our vitamins, we ordered one vegetarian.”
The vegetarian pizza box sat unopened. I guess the girls figured they could absorb the nutrients through inhalation. Who knows? Maybe they were onto something. Although I figured that would work better if they set the box on fire. I’d gone to enough college frat parties to understand the power of secondhand herbal smoke.
I was about to set a good example by opening the veggie pizza box when Halle asked, “So, what’s our assignment, Coach? We won’t leave until you tell us how we can help.”
As far as threats went, that was a pretty good one. I’d had derby girls play sleepover at my place in the not so distant past. I still had the cracks and high-heel marks on my bedroom door to prove it. If I wanted to avoid further home repairs, I needed to come up with a task that would satisfy my friends and keep them out of my way.
“Do any of you own dogs?” I asked.
They looked at one another and then back at me with a shrug. Nope. No dogs here.
“Do you know anyone who owns dogs?”
They gave me happy smiles.
Phew. “Talk to the dog owners you know. Ask them if they’ve ever given their dogs over-the-counter medication to make them stop barking or go to sleep.”
“You think the thief drugged a dog?” Anna’s eyes widened. “That’s just mean.”
“It’s a theory.” One that I already planned to ask Lionel about, but it was the only task I could come up with to distract my team. “If the thief drugged the dogs, there’s a chance he didn’t use an animal-specific prescription. I want to know what kinds of meant-for-human medications animal owners have given to their pets without noticeable side effects. Send me a text or leave a note with George if you learn anything. This case will keep me too busy to spend much time at home.”
I crossed my fingers behind my back and hoped they didn’t know about the eyebrow raise I do when I fib. Hey, I might not have been lying. Between the wedding details, the investigation, and my recent upgrade in relationship status with Lionel, I might not be in my apartment much. I was a champ at rationalization.
Thank goodness either I’d learned to control my eyebrow twitch or the girls were too excited about their private-investigator-by-association status to care. They ate the rest of the nonveggie pizza, took their plates into the kitchen, and promised to keep me updated on their assignment as they tromped out the front door.
As soon as they were gone, I turned the dead bolt. I’d had enough guests for one night. Once the veggie pizza was stored and the plates stashed in the dishwasher, I looked at the clock. My heart dipped. It was almost eight o’clock, and Lionel still hadn’t called.
I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care. We were both mature adults who didn’t need to check in with each other all the time. Come to think of it, too many phone calls during a day would feel possessive and annoying. Which we weren’t. So this was good.
My stomach clenched. Nope. I wasn’t buying it. Now that I was no longer preoccupied with murderous mothers-in-law and starved skaters, anxiety had taken hold.
To distract myself, I placed another call to Pop. Voice mail. I tried to call Jasmine again. Voice mail. I even called Annette, hoping my godmother would be willing to discuss the thefts some more. Voice mail.
Crap.
Unless I wanted to spend the rest of the evening feeling like the pizza I consumed was going to make a reappearance, there was only one thing to do. Sucking up my pride, I started to punch speed dial number 3 when “The Hokey Pokey” began to play.
Lionel was calling.
My blood buzzed with nerves and excitement. “Hey.” Was I smooth or what?
“I hope you aren’t mad at me for not calling sooner.” Fatigue and tension resonated in his voice. “I planned to call this morning and surprise you with a romantic dinner at my place tonight, but something came up.”
Emergencies were part of a country vet’s life. Around here there were always cows in labor or horses twisting ankles. Throw in the stray call for a sick dog whose owner trusted Lionel more than the pet’s typical vet, and rarely a week went by without a date being postponed or broken.
“Did something happen to Mrs. Riley’s goat again?” So far the animal had eaten a pair of boots, a curry brush, six sponges, and an orange plastic bucket. Each dietary adventure caused severe indigestion and a panicked phone call to Lionel.
“Not exactly. Doc Truman called and asked for help.”
Uh-oh. Doc Truman wasn’t just Indian Falls’ answer to sniffles and sore throats. He was also the coroner. Whenever he was on vacation or otherwise occupied, Lionel stepped into his shoes. “Who died?”
“Ginny Chapman. I needed to escort her to the medical examiner and wait for him to perform the autopsy.”
Ick.
Wait … “Why does Ginny need an autopsy? I thought those were only performed when the death is unexplained or there’s a chance of foul play.” All those evenings vegging out in front of Law & Order had taught me something. “Ginny died in her sleep.”
“That’s what Sean thought. Doc was pretty sure that was the case, too, until he examined her. There’s no doubt about it.” Lionel sighed. “Ginny didn’t die of old age. The medical examiner has ruled. It was murder.”
Nine
“Murder? As in someone intentionally killed Ginny Chapman? How?”
Another sigh. “I’m not allowed to divulge details, and I’m pretty sure Sheriff Jackson and Sean haven’t notified the next of kin.”
Both fair points. Unfortunately, neither made me want the information less. After all, I had been in the building acting like Bridal Bingo’s answer to Vanna White when Ginny was killed. I was a witness. I might have seen the killer.
As much as I wanted answers, though, I wasn’t about to push Lionel. Not after a day of accompanying a dead body and observing while it was poked, prodded, and pierced. Ew. Lionel didn’t need to relive that adventure. What he needed was food and a distraction. Lucky for him, I was happy to provide both.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing at Lionel’s front door with a vegetarian pizza and a shoulder bag containing a change of clothes and my toothbrush. Just in case.
Lionel smiled when he saw me and the pizza. His jaw dropped when I took off my puffy white coat and revealed the low-cut, black lace bustier Jasmine had talked me into buying two years ago. I’d never had a reason to wear it and often complained that it was money wasted. Turned out I was wrong. Not only was that cash not wasted, it was quite possibly the best money I’d ever spent.
The next morning, I woke with the bustier on the floor and a smile on my face. Unfortunately, Lionel was once again nowhere to be found. This whole morning disappearing act was enough to give a girl a complex. On the plus side, coffee and cold pizza were waiting for me when I arrived downstairs. As were a text message from Danielle asking what I thought of bags of nuts for favors and a voice mail from my grandfather telling me to drop by his place pronto. H
e had news.
Since the nuts sounded, well, nuts, I vowed to come up with something better and sent my grandfather a text saying I was on my way. Then I burned my tongue chugging coffee and grabbed a slice of cold pizza for the road. It was time to hear what the Indian Falls Senior Center grapevine was gossiping about.
The minute I stepped into the kitchen, Pop announced, “Ginny was murdered.”
“I heard.”
Pop’s face fell. “You heard? How?”
“Doc asked Lionel to observe the autopsy. He called on his way home to let me know why he hadn’t been in touch.”
“Why didn’t you call and tell me?” Pop plopped a hand on his brown-velour-clad hip. “Ginny was my friend. I had a right to know.”
“I was waiting for you to call me back. I left you a message.”
Pop snapped his gnarled fingers. “I forgot about your message. Sorry.” He poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter and handed it to me. “I had a date with Francine Holmes and meant to call when I got home, but one thing led to another. You know how that goes.” He winked.
I winced.
“Since your father cramps my style, we went back to her place. That’s the only reason I know about Ginny. I was Poligripping my dentures when Francine got a call from Nan, who just talked to Doreen, who heard from Eleanor that Ginny’s death had been ruled a homicide.”
My head spun trying to follow that game of telephone from hell. Not sure if the information was going to be any more accurate than when I played that game in elementary school, I asked, “Did Eleanor mention the cause of death? Lionel wasn’t in the mood to share.”
“He probably doesn’t want you mixed up in another murder investigation, seeing as how the last murderer came after you while you were investigating.”
Technically, the murderer was gunning for me all along and just missed the first time. I wasn’t sure that counted. Still, Pop could have a point. During Sherlene-n-Mean’s murder investigation, Lionel changed his mind about my selling the rink and suggested I leave town and go back to Chicago. He wanted me safe, even if that meant losing whatever we were building between us. His suggestion ticked me off then. Now the memory made my stomach all tingly. Relationships were weird.
Pop didn’t notice my tingling. “Francine said Nan had a hard time understanding all the details, but according to Doreen, who heard it from Eleanor, Doc Truman was concerned about Ginny’s toes.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it was her nose. Whatever it was, Doc decided the situation was unusual enough to call for an autopsy. That’s how we know Ginny died of insulin shock.”
“Was Ginny diabetic?” Maybe this wasn’t murder but a terrible accident. Maybe everyone was overreacting. After all, Indian Falls had seen more murders in the last year than it had in over a decade. Jumping to conclusions would be understandable given the circumstances.
“Nope.” Pop burst my bubble. “Ginny eats sugar like a champ. She always wins the center’s annual Halloween candy-corn-eating contest. Louise started a petition last year to get Ginny disqualified based on her lack of medical conditions. Thank goodness the board nixed that one or we’d have been eating leftover candy corn for weeks. That stuff is hard to pry off the dentures.”
Before Pop could pull out his teeth and clean them in front of me, I steered the conversation back to the murder. “I’m surprised Eleanor told”—I blinked, trying to recall who Eleanor had talked to—“someone about the cause of death. Was the next of kin notified by the time she called?”
“Eleanor wouldn’t have leaked the information before they were called. Normally Eleanor wouldn’t have leaked it at all. You know how tight-lipped she can be unless she’s provided with a big incentive.”
I winced as a picture of Eleanor decked out in black leather flashed through my mind. Yeah—Eleanor kept her mouth shut unless she had a good reason not to. Last time her reason was an evening with Pop. “What was her reason for sharing information this time?”
“The cause of death.” My blank stare made Pop explain. “Eleanor was concerned the murderer might have stolen someone’s insulin prescription and swapped it with water or something worse. She’s coordinating a medical task force to make house calls on anyone in Indian Falls who takes insulin and verify they have the right medication. I volunteered for the job, but Eleanor said watching M*A*S*H reruns doesn’t qualify as medical training. She’s probably right.”
Pouring myself another cup of Pop’s coffee, I asked, “Have you heard what Sean thought of the medical examiner’s ruling?” Sean was the one who originally said Ginny died of natural causes. He wasn’t gracious when proven wrong.
“Not a clue, but I’d imagine he’s going to be too busy running down a murderer to catch the Thanksgiving Day thief. He must be grateful you’re picking up the slack.”
Sure, and Elwood might guide Santa’s sleigh this year.
However, Pop’s optimism made a great segue to the questions I’d wanted to ask yesterday. “Are you friends with Seth and Jan Kurtz? I went by their house yesterday to talk to them about the first theft, and only the dogs were home.”
“I’ve known Seth for almost forty years, but I can’t say he’s my friend. He used to be thick with Paul Jacabowski, but the two had a falling-out. Since then Seth hasn’t been much for socializing unless he’s talking about dogs or plants. His main objective in life seems to be beating Sheriff Jackson for first place in the St. Mark’s Women’s Guild’s Beautiful Garden Contest. Part of me thinks he keeps that many dogs just so he has enough fertilizer.”
Interesting theory.
“What about Jan?”
Pop grabbed a box of Cocoa Puffs off the counter and frowned as he shook it. Empty. My father’s appetite had struck again.
Pitching the box, Pop said, “Jan’s a nice lady. She spends most of her time painting flamingos on ceramic bowls.” When I blinked, Pop added, “She’s trying to convince Seth they should go to Florida during the winter. A few of the folks at the center started a snowbird club. Every year they rent a house in Sarasota and spend their winter on the beach while the rest of us are up to our eyebrows in snow and cold.”
“Why haven’t you gone with them?” I asked. Pop’s Elvis act would be a hot commodity among the senior Floridian set. Although just thinking about him being that far away for several months made me sad.
“I thought about it, but it’s too much work finding someone to house-sit. Not to mention the packing involved. Packing sucks.” Pop jumped, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. “Ethel’s calling. She’s the branch above me on the center phone tree.”
While Pop talked to Ethel, I snuck into the garage to raid Pop’s secret food stash. Pop-Tarts. Score!
Careful to pull the tarp back over the small fridge and Rubbermaid container, I hurried back into the warmth of the kitchen and made a beeline for the toaster. I was just polishing off the last piece of the frosted imitation-strawberry treat when my father sauntered into the kitchen, wearing black denim pants and a beige sweater.
“Do I smell Pop-Tarts?” His nose twitched. “I didn’t know we had those.”
“I think I ate the only one in the house,” I was able to say truthfully. The rest were out in the garage. “Sorry.”
Dad shrugged. “It’s probably for the best. Too much sugar creates wrinkles.” Pop walked back into the room with drooped shoulders and a wistful look in his eyes. I might have imagined the sympathy that crossed Stan’s face before he smiled and nodded toward my grandfather. “See what I mean about sugar causing wrinkles?”
Pop didn’t even glance at my father. “Ethel said the murder ruling has thrown a wrench into the services. The wake has been moved to Sunday. The burial will be on Monday, weather permitting.”
The weather report I’d heard said the first snow of the year might come as early as this week. Just thinking about it made me depressed. So did the dejected expression on Pop’s face and his lack of reaction to Stan’s jibe. Pop loved an excuse to fight with Stan. Th
e fact that he didn’t throw back an insult told me just how deeply Ginny’s death had affected him.
I needed to make Pop smile, and I was pretty sure I knew a way. Tugging on my coat, I said, “I’m going to head over to the Kurtzes’ place today to see if they’ll talk to me about the theft. Want to come along?”
The investigation would be a good way to distract Pop, and his familiar presence could encourage the Kurtzes to talk to me about the breakin.
“Hey.” Stan looked up from the coffee he was pouring. “Are you visiting Seth and Jan?”
I blinked. “You know them?”
“I ran into them at the center yesterday when I was doing a consultation.” My father grabbed a spoon and ladled sugar into his mug. I guess he didn’t care if he got wrinkles after all. “Seth has a distinguished look I can sell to advertisers. I planned to search for him at the center and make my pitch, but if you’re going by his place I can just tag along for the ride. Maybe I can even help you with this whole investigation thing. Your old man’s just as wily as your grandfather, you know.”
I did know. How else could I explain the way he had neatly boxed me into letting him accompany me and Pop to question witnesses?
Pop made four phone-tree calls from the passenger seat while my father rummaged through his briefcase in the back. I couldn’t help but note that Stan didn’t make a single comment the entire ride. Either his work was that engrossing or he was being respectful of Pop and his feelings.
I parked the car in the middle of the long driveway and got out. Dogs came flying from around the side of the house, barking their heads off. Three ran for the front porch. The other trio stormed toward me.
Yikes.
The barking grew louder and angrier as I shrieked and dove back into the car. Getting mauled by dogs wasn’t on today’s to-do list. I grabbed the handle of the door and slammed it shut as a Cujo wannabe mashed his nose against my window, bared his teeth, and growled. Doggy drool smeared across the glass. Yick—but better the window than me.