“Hey, Pop. Wake up.” I nudged his shoulder. “I brought chili dogs.”
Pop’s eyes snapped open. “Chili dogs? Where are they?” Pop swung his legs to the floor, and before I could blink he was up on his feet. Growing up, there were two constants in my life—my mother and Pop’s addiction to chili dogs.
A few minutes later, the two of us were seated in the kitchen dividing up the hot dogs. Three for Pop. One for me. Both of us got fries and onion rings. I chomped down on a french fry, and my body hummed with pleasure.
When the last piece of hot dog was devoured, Pop leaned back in his chair and belched. “So why the chili dogs? What do you want?”
“I need you to tap your resources and find out what the gossips in town are buzzing about. I set a few things in motion this morning, and I need to know if they worked.”
“I can do that.” Pop pushed away from the table and shuffled over to the phone. “I gotta make it quick, though. I have to start practicing for my new job.”
“What job?” I asked. “I thought you said you couldn’t take care of the rink anymore because working was bad for your health.”
Pop shrugged. “This isn’t a nine-to-five job like that. See, winning the float competition got me thinking. I really like the King, and all the women told me I looked just like him yesterday. You can see the resemblance, right?”
Maybe if I stayed out in the sun too long and was hallucinating. “So what’s the job?” I asked.
Pop grinned. “I’m going to be an Elvis impersonator, and my first gig is Friday night at the senior center. The bingo crowd is a rowdy group, and everyone who’s anyone will be there. You should bring Lionel. I’ll make sure you get a scarf.” Pop began to gyrate his hips, and he slid the purple scarf off his neck and swung it around in a circle, causing a muscle in my neck to twitch. The jerky movements made the black wig slip over Pop’s eyes. He stopped dancing in order to readjust the rug on his head and quipped, “I’m still trying to figure out how to get this hair to stay on during my dance routines. Maybe Annette can give me some advice.”
I pointed to the phone, and Pop started dialing while I buried my head in my hands. The image of Pop doing a hula in his shorts was going to haunt me for the rest of my life. If my grandmother was alive, this would have killed her. Grandma Phillips was the steady-as-a-rock, everything-in-its-place type, and growing up I’d thought Pop was, too. Boy, did he have me fooled.
Several phone calls later, Pop shimmied back to the table with a large grin plastered on his face. “I don’t know what you did, but the whole town is abuzz. Everyone’s saying there’s evidence pointing to Mack’s murderer. They claim you have it. Do you?”
“Maybe.” Pop was great for getting gossip, but he was also a champ at spreading it. Telling him I was bluffing would ruin everything.
Pop’s eyes were wide with curiosity, and he added, “Edna said something about Mack storing dead bodies somewhere and that Agnes’s cat drugged Mack. I don’t know if I should pay any attention to her, since she also claims to hear the voice of Abraham Lincoln giving her racing tips. Edna plays the ponies every Saturday.”
“Anything else?” I was hoping someone would crack under the pressure. A confession would make my life a lot more comfortable.
He shrugged. “Marjorie Buckingham said she’d come over later and help me with my pelvic rotations, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to know about that.”
The chili dog lurched in my stomach. Pop gave me a concerned look, and I gave him a big, if sickly, smile while asking, “Why isn’t Louise helping you with your Elvis career? She’d make great costumes.”
“Louise and I called it quits. She wanted me to put another one of those death traps in my yard. I said no way in hell, and that’s when Louise said I was ungrateful and broke up with me.” Pop turned on the sink and filled his glass with water. “Good thing, too. I wanted to end it for a week, only I didn’t know how to do it. I hate seeing women cry.”
Pop gave me a hug good-bye and started gargling at the sink. Getting in my car, I could hear my grandfather’s out-of-tune voice wafting through an open window as he gave the neighborhood a sneak preview of “Don’t Be Cruel”—Pop style. Talk about irony.
I stopped by the rink. A quick peek assured me the upstairs apartment was quiet. Downstairs, George was on the floor practicing jumps in a pair of bright blue spandex shorts and a matching shirt. I briefly wondered if he’d like to be in Pop’s new act and decided to keep my mouth shut. Indian Falls wasn’t ready for that.
“I have a few more errands to run,” I yelled to George as he rolled by. “Are you okay running things by yourself?” I could see every muscle beneath the spandex move as George pushed himself along the floor and skidded to a stop in front of me.
“I’m fine.” His voice sounded tense, though, and his forehead scrunched up, which made me doubt his statement.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“All but two of my lessons canceled for today, and Mrs. Ramirez canceled Miguel’s birthday party. Between the murder and the guy you found bleeding upstairs, no one wants to let their kids come here.” George sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Your mother would be disappointed.”
The guilt trip scored a direct hit to my heart. George was right. Mom would be disappointed.
“Don’t worry, George.” I put my hand on his spandexed arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “A couple of days from now this will all be behind us. Mack’s killer will be arrested. Everything will go back to normal.”
George’s big brown eyes glistened with hope. “Then it’s true? Everyone’s saying you know who Mack’s murderer is, but I figured it was a big joke.”
“No joke. The case is good as solved.” George was so happy he never noticed me crossing my fingers behind my back.
“That’s great. Oh, I left the messages on your desk along with the mail. You know where to find me if you need me.” George skated back to the center of the rink, looking a lot happier than when I came in.
Ducking into my office, I flipped through the mail. Nothing exciting. I read through the messages George had scribbled down. People calling to express concern about the rink’s safety or cancel their events. I prayed what I said to George turned out to be true; otherwise, the rink would be in serious financial trouble.
I noticed there was a new message on the machine, so I hit PLAY. Agnes Piraino’s anxious voice filled the room.
“Rebecca, dear, could you please come see me? I’m having a little problem, and you’re so nice that I thought you might be able to help. I promise I won’t take much of your time. Oh, one more thing. Don’t come to the house. You see, the sheriff has locked me in jail.”
Eighteen
Oh God, I groaned silently. My quest to shake loose the killer had landed Agnes in the clink. While I was certain Precious’s pills led to Mack’s death, I was equally sure Agnes wasn’t the guilty party. Too bad I had no idea who really did it.
When I arrived at the sheriff’s, several people, including a reporter for the local paper, were loitering outside. Our esteemed newspaper editor, Carter Ostrowski, raced over to me yelling, “Hey, Rebecca, do you know anything about Agnes Piraino being arrested for Mack Murphy’s murder?”
“Nope. Sorry, Mr. Ostrowski.” I walked as fast as my low-heeled sandals would allow.
The reporter trotted at my heels. “That’s funny. Several people say you’re the one who found the evidence that put Agnes behind bars.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Me?” I croaked.
“Yep. Roxy said Sheriff Jackson called you a heroic citizen. Do you have any comment?”
Yeah, Roxy inhaled too much nail polish, and Sheriff Jackson was a nut. “Maybe later.” I raced into the sheriff’s office. Roxy was on the phone, no doubt spreading confidential cop business to anyone who asked. When Roxy finished her conversation, she waved me over.
“If it isn’t the woman of the hour.” Roxy came around the counter, and I found
myself squashed in a big, heavily perfumed hug. “I told the sheriff about your tip, and he went right over and arrested Agnes. Who would have guessed the old lady was a killer?”
“Not me.” I took several steps back. The scent of decaying lilies was overwhelming. “Speaking of Agnes, she called me after the sheriff brought her in. Would you mind if I talked to her?”
Roxy’s lips pursed tightly together. “I’m not sure what the policy is since we’ve never had a murderer in jail before. Wait here. I’ll ask the sheriff.” Her heels echoed down the small hallway while I twiddled my thumbs in the lobby. It wasn’t long before I heard Roxy’s return.
“Sheriff says it’s okay. Follow me.”
We both clopped down the hall past the sheriff’s office. When we reached the last door on the left, Roxy gestured toward it. “She’s all yours.”
I poked my head into the room. There were four decent-sized cells along one side and a small, kitchenette-sized table and chairs on the other. Agnes was in the last cell, the only one with a window. Her face lit up the minute she spotted me.
“Rebecca, dear, I knew you’d come. I’m so sorry to bother you with this, but I had no idea who else to call.”
Seeing the animal-loving librarian in jail twisted every soft, squishy emotion in my body. “Please don’t apologize, Mrs. Piraino. I’m glad you called, and I should be the one apologizing to you. This whole thing is all my fault.”
“Your fault?” Agnes blinked. “How could you possibly think this is your fault?”
“Well.” I looked down at my shoes. “I was talking to Roxy this morning, and I mentioned how Precious took the same pills that killed Mack.” I looked back at Agnes, and the knife of guilt cut deeper. The older woman looked like she’d aged ten years since Pop and I saw her. “It never occurred to me that they’d arrest you, because I’m sure you didn’t do it.”
Agnes plopped her hands on her hips and gave me a stern frown. I braced myself for a tongue-lashing. “Oh, heavens, dear. Don’t blame yourself.” Agnes grabbed a steel bar in each hand. “If anyone’s to blame for this mess, it’s that nephew of mine. He’s the reason I was scared to say I lost the pills. As a matter of fact, he’s the one that got me arrested today.”
Being absolved of guilt must have scrambled my brain, because I didn’t understand. “What does Tom have to do with you being in jail?”
Agnes let out a heavy sigh. She walked over to the tiny cot against the wall and sank down. “When you told the cops about Precious’s pills, they came to see me. I told them exactly what I told you, that the pills were in my kitchen one minute and the next they were gone. Sheriff Jackson was very sympathetic. He told me it could happen to anyone.”
Probably because it happened to him all the time. “Then what happened? Why are you here?” It sounded like the sheriff had been willing to leave Agnes alone.
The old librarian’s eyes filled with tears. “The sheriff and Deputy Holmes were about to leave, but then Tom showed up. Tom started waving his arms around, saying things like ‘my aunt can’t help herself’ and that he tried to make sure I didn’t hurt anyone, but he couldn’t watch me all the time. Before I knew it, Deputy Holmes was cuffing me and reading me my rights. I just can’t believe my own flesh and blood would stoop this low to get my money.”
Neither could I. I mean, there were times I’d have cheerfully traded my family for a new car, but that’s when I was sixteen. I could blame the stupidity of youth. What was Tom’s excuse?
Agnes clutched her hands together and bowed her head. Anger flooded through me as I looked at the tiny and helpless librarian standing behind steel bars. In my best authoritative voice I said, “Let me talk to the sheriff. I’m sure I can make him understand what’s going on. You’ll be out of here in no time. I promise.”
Her head came up, and hope shined bright in her eyes. “You really think so?”
I nodded. “Let me handle it.” Only this time I’d be careful about what I said; otherwise, I might get Agnes burned at the stake. So far my meddling hadn’t turned out the way I’d anticipated.
“Oh, Rebecca,” Agnes cried. “Could you also stop by my house? I don’t want to put you to any trouble, but Precious needs her medication. I just got a refill from Dr. Franklin today, and I didn’t have time to give it to her before the sheriff showed up. I don’t want Precious to bite anyone by accident.”
Unless it was Tom, I thought. Tom deserved whatever he got. I agreed to medicate Precious and feed the rest of Agnes’s cats. She told me where I could find a spare key, and I said good-bye. Wandering down the hallway, I poked my head into a variety of rooms looking for the sheriff. He was nowhere to be found, but Deputy Sean was. While throwing darts at a board in his office, Sean told me the “big man” had gone home. Probably back in his garden smelling the daisies.
By the time I hit the pavement, the local paparazzi and the other curious townsfolk had disappeared. Sheriff Jackson’s floral palace was about three miles outside the town limits. I pulled up the gravel drive and immediately spotted him. The sheriff was kneeling next to a large flower bed and watering what I guessed were azaleas.
“Sheriff Jackson,” I yelled across the yard. “I need to talk to you.”
The sheriff continued turning dirt into mud, so I yelled a little louder. “Sheriff Jackson. Do you have time to talk?”
His head came up. Slowly he looked around the large lawn. I cleared my throat loud enough for someone to hear in Kansas, and his head swung in my direction.
“Oh, Rebecca.” He stood up and wiped his dirty hands on his overalls. Hooking his fingers through the bib straps, he asked, “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be busy talking to Doreen about selling the rink. It’ll sell now that Mack’s murder has been solved.”
“But it hasn’t.”
He frowned at me. “Of course it has.” He turned back to his pansies and grabbed a watering can. “You gave us a tip about the pills, and we brought in Agnes. Case closed. Sell the rink, Rebecca. Go back to the city.”
My shoulders tensed. He was trying to get me to leave town, just like Annette and my stalker. “Look.” I marched through the manicured grass toward him. “I said Agnes’s cat took clomipramine. I didn’t say Agnes killed Mack, and I know you don’t believe she did it, either. You’ve known her forever. Does she strike you as a homicidal maniac?”
The sheriff squinted up into the sun. “Can’t say she does, but criminals are like that. Normal one day, and the next they just snap.”
True, but this was Indian Falls. When someone here snapped, everyone noticed.
“Agnes said you weren’t going to arrest her today, but then her nephew showed up. What did he say to make you change your mind? Did he have proof Agnes killed Mack?”
“Now, see here,” Sheriff Jackson blustered. “Agnes is getting up there in age, and I know better than anyone how the mind can play tricks on you. Tom only pointed out that Agnes is older. She overreacts to certain situations, especially ones involving her cats. Mack was mean to her cats, and Agnes decided to get even. She had the motive. She had the drugs, and she gave them to him. Knowing her, she probably didn’t mean to kill the guy, but that’s what happened. What more proof do you need?”
Gee, maybe something tangible. The sheriff’s case would never convince a jury, not that it would get that far. Not with Tom as the star witness. One look at his motives would make anyone doubt his story. I hoped that included Sheriff Jackson.
“Seems like you’re placing a lot of weight on Tom’s opinions,” I said. “How well do you actually know the guy?”
The sheriff rolled his eyes and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I know he got our team to the regional finals last year. That says something about a man.”
Yeah, that he could coach football. What that had to do with anything else was unclear to me.
Trying a different tack, I asked, “Did you know Tom has been looking to commit his aunt? He wants to put her in an old age home so he can get his han
ds on her estate.”
The sheriff stopped fidgeting and gave me a hard stare. “You know this for a fact?”
I nodded. “I’d say money is a pretty big motive for lying.” The two of us locked eyes. Neither of us blinked.
“That’s an interesting theory.” He chewed the inside of his lip. “Only problem is, we got Agnes sitting in jail right now. We don’t have any evidence against anyone else.”
Plopping my hands on my hips, I said, “For the sake of argument, let’s say Agnes did do it. How do you know she didn’t have help? Someone had to tell her about Mack’s thyroid condition? The clomipramine only caused him to black out because it was mixed with the thyroid medication. Normally, it would have been harmless.” I smiled. “You said yourself that she’s getting up in age. Do you really think she could have pulled this off on her own? Maybe you should say you’re looking for additional suspects. Put pressure on anyone else that might be out there. Chances are they’ll make a mistake.” I hoped. At least that’s what always happened on TV.
“Not a bad idea.” Sheriff Jackson stroked his chin. A moment later, he nodded. “You know, it couldn’t hurt to keep the case open. I don’t want to stop the investigation if there’s a chance we have the wrong person.” He squinted at me with a puzzled expression. “You’re a pretty good investigator. Funny, I thought your grandpa said you were involved with a bank or something. Did I get that wrong, too?”
Sighing, I replied, “I’m a mortgage broker.” Although I no longer felt the same sense of pride admitting that.
Leaving the sheriff playing with his flowers, I headed over to Agnes’s house to help ensure the town’s safety. I needed to medicate Precious.
I pulled into Agnes’s driveway behind a white van with the words MISSISSIPPI RIVER ANIMAL RESCUE stenciled on the side. I raced up the sidewalk and in my haste almost barreled into a middle-aged woman wearing a khaki-colored uniform and ball cap. The woman was lugging two cat carriers, each containing a loudly meowing cat.
I blocked the woman’s path to the van. “Who gave you permission to take these animals?” I demanded.