Suddenly I was reminded of my pledge while watching television. Solving Mack’s murder sounded less plausible in the light of day than it had with a Budweiser in my hand. I had no investigatory skills and no idea how to even get started.
Still, a guy was dead, and he had died in my mother’s roller rink. I figured I should run by the sheriff’s office and see what progress Sheriff Jackson had made on the case. Maybe Pop had turned off the ringer on the phone. Then he would have missed the call from the old people spy network telling him the killer had been captured. I hopped in my bright yellow Honda Civic and motored off to the north side of town, half convinced the whole thing was already solved and my real estate troubles were over.
Indian Falls is a small town in west central Illinois near the Mississippi River. Not the greatest place to grow up, but I’m sure there are worse. Not much had changed about the downtown area since I was a kid. The sheriff’s office was on Main Street in the heart of downtown and right next to the DiBelka Bakery. Convenient for all parties involved, I thought.
No one was manning the front desk at the sheriff’s office. I noticed a silver bell sitting on the counter and gave it a whack.
A vaguely familiar petite woman with very big, very platinum hair teetered to the front. “Can I help you?” Her voice sounded like a rusty hinge. My body stilled as recognition set in. This was Roxy Moore.
“Is Sheriff Jackson around?” I asked, forcing myself to smile.
“Sorry, Rebecca.” Roxy sat down behind the counter and picked up a nail file. “The sheriff doesn’t come in until late on Saturdays. He likes to sleep in and putter around his garden. You know the St. Mark’s Ladies Guild is having their annual Beautiful Garden Contest in June. The sheriff’s won three years straight, and he’s trying his best to win again.”
Impressive, but not exactly the credentials I was looking for in my law enforcement team. The fact that their secretary had once berated my mother about not knowing how to handle her man didn’t help.
The marital counselor looked up from whittling her thumbnail and said, “I wasn’t surprised to hear Mack turned up dead. He’d upset a lot of people recently.”
“What was he doing?” Maybe Roxy had some info Pop didn’t.
Roxy put down the file and pulled out a bottle of Passionate Pink nail polish. “It’s what he wasn’t doing that caused all the problems. We got a bunch of complaints about Mack taking money and not finishing jobs. Then there’s the business with Agnes Piraino. She’s filed three reports against him for harassment.”
I remembered Agnes. She had retired from her position as town librarian my last year of high school. When I was a child, she rapped me on my knuckles with a ruler for having sticky fingers. Needless to say, I didn’t go to the library much after that. “Mack harassed Agnes Piraino?”
“No. He harassed her cats.”
“Is that a crime?”
Roxy giggled, which to me sounded a lot like nails on a chalkboard. “Not that we know of, but the sheriff took the reports anyway just to make Agnes happy. Apparently, Mack was doing some work for Agnes’s neighbors. Her cats kept getting in Mack’s way. He finally threatened to poison the things if Agnes didn’t keep them in the house.”
“Did she?”
“Nope. One of the cats bit him, and he drop-kicked it across the yard. Agnes wanted Mack arrested for assault, but as far as Sheriff Don was concerned Mack was acting in self-defense.”
“Do you think the sheriff is going to make an arrest soon?” I leaned on the counter. “I mean, I’d feel safer knowing the murderer is off the street.”
Roxy looked at me through her mascara-laden lashes. “Our department will catch the person who slipped Mack those pills. In the meantime, Indian Falls is safer than living in the city. Since you plan on selling the rink and going back, I don’t see a problem for you.”
Her attention drifted back to painting her nails, and I scooted out the door feeling less optimistic than when I went in. Although maybe I was tying myself up into knots for no reason. Maybe the right buyer was at the rink right now.
My jaw dropped as I pulled into the rink’s almost full parking lot. I steered around a couple walking through the lot carrying camera equipment and parked in a spot near the back.
A Mozart piece was playing over the loudspeaker as I walked into the rink. George and one of his students were circling the floor. The rest of the rink was chaos.
People filled the sidelines. Walking farther into the rink, I spotted several teenagers who frequented the Toe Stop and a couple of their parents. Curiosity over the sale of the rink and Mack’s death probably brought them out. I waved at the teenagers and did a double take. Behind them, at a table across from the bathrooms, was a group of unfamiliar adults swathed in black and deep purple. Perhaps more distinctive than their color palette was the fact that they were all chanting and holding hands.
This was an open house? It looked more like a séance.
Oh God!
My eyes darted to the bathroom. The yellow crime-scene tape barring entrance was still intact, but clusters of people were posing in front of the door while their friends took pictures.
I peered into the snack area and groaned. A group of white-haired seniors huddled around a Ouija board, sporting expressions of equal parts amusement and fear. In the middle of the group was my grandfather. He spotted me after the woman on his left elbowed him. Pop gave me a shrug and put his hand back on the planchette in the middle of the board. Apparently, Pop’s group had expanded its gossip vine to the great beyond. This was just perfect.
“Rebecca. I’m so glad you made it.”
I turned, and Doreen gave me a tight, overly bright smile.
“Is anyone here for the open house actually interested in buying the rink?” I asked.
“Well…” Doreen glanced around the place and pointed to a man in a suit who was currently crawling around the edge of the rink on all fours. “That individual might be interested in opening a museum on the premises, but I think he’s only looking to rent.”
“A museum?” No one came to Indian Falls unless they had to. “What kind of museum?”
“A paranormal one. If he makes an offer, he plans on having psychic readings and séances.”
I blinked. To Doreen’s credit, she had managed to break the news with a straight face. If nothing else, she was professional.
I swallowed hard. “Are you kidding?”
She shook her champagne-colored coif.
“Is there anyone interested in actually owning a roller rink?”
Her lips pursed, she scoped out the room. “Not today. I figured it would be a hard sell considering the specialty nature of the business, but I thought I had one or two potential buyers lined up. Both of them called this morning to say they weren’t interested. At least not until some time passes. They don’t want to be associated with death or, worse yet, murder.”
Death and murder weren’t on the top of my list either. Unfortunately, I was stuck with them until the sheriff solved the crime and I sold the rink.
“What do you think I should do?” I asked.
“I hate to think of this place turning into a museum for the dead, but that’s the only offer I see us getting for a while. It’s not my place to tell you whether to turn it down.”
Maybe not, but I could see she wanted to—and to be honest, while the rent on my apartment was almost due, that wasn’t as important to me as the fact that Mom loved her roller rink. While I didn’t want to run the rink myself, I wanted to find a buyer who would keep Mom’s dream alive.
“Turn him down.” I sighed as a flashbulb went off in my face to commemorate the moment. “And anyone else not interested in owning a roller rink.”
Doreen’s eyes twinkled behind her rhinestone rims. “It could take a long time for the sheriff to put Mack’s death to rest. Things don’t move as quick around here as they do in the city.”
“I know,” I assured her. “Just do the best you can, and could
you get these people out of here? George looks like he is about to go into cardiac arrest.”
Leaving Doreen to deal with the fallout, I slid into my stifling car and cranked the air to arctic. Now what? A frightening vision of the rest of my life trapped in this town flashed before me. I didn’t relish the idea of handing out skate rentals and dodging Pop’s dates for the next decade.
Laying my head against the steering wheel, I considered my options. There was only one. The case needed to be closed and fast; otherwise my life was going to resemble a country-western song. Too bad the sheriff’s department didn’t seem to function at a speed above mosey.
But I did. Between Pop’s information network and visiting Roxy’s House of Nails, I now had a list of potential suspects—Agnes Piraino, Lionel Franklin, and Annette Zukowski. Since Sheriff Jackson was busy pruning his daisies, paying them a visit probably wouldn’t hurt.
Someone should, right?
As my car chugged through the downtown area, I spotted several familiar faces. A woman coming out of the Lutheran church looked familiar, and I waved as I sat at a stoplight. Instead of giving a typical Indian Falls smile, though, the woman hurried around the corner, her eyes filled with fear. The light changed, and I continued down the street with the weird feeling that the woman thought I had something to do with Mack’s death. Just one more fun problem to deal with, I thought as I parallel parked my car down the block. Getting out, I prepared myself to interview my first potential murder suspect and my godmother—Annette Zukowski.
Annette ran the town’s only beauty salon, Shear Highlights. She’d opened it when I was in high school. Today the salon was filled with women getting their hair set and colored in time for Sunday morning services. Several of them jumped as I opened the door. Clearly they were spooked about a murder taking place in Indian Falls. Still, that wasn’t enough to keep them from their weekly beauty ritual.
I spotted Annette in the back clipping a little girl’s blond hair. Annette and I were a lot alike physically. She was thin, about average height, and had large quantities of hair, which today she wore pulled back at the nape of her neck. Hers was dark brown where mine was red. Annette’s bright blue eyes were crinkled in perpetual laughter, and her smile never failed to lift everyone’s spirits. The minute she looked up from her work, she smiled and waved me forward.
I strolled down the aisle, trying to ignore several sets of eyes widening as I passed. My shoulders tensed, and I took a deep breath. Being stared at by gossips in this town hadn’t gotten any easier in the past decade.
Annette’s scissors didn’t stop snipping as she shot me a large smile. “How are you doing, Rebecca? Did you come by for the haircut I promised you?”
A year ago, after my mom’s funeral, Annette suggested I get a makeover to assist me through the sadness. When I turned her down, she helped me consume the better part of three bottles of wine and tucked me in when I passed out.
I shook my head. “Next time. I kind of wanted to talk to you about Mack.”
Blow-dryers all around me went silent.
Annette just raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I heard about what happened to him yesterday. It’s awful.”
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Pop said the two of you had an argument. What was it about?”
She sighed. “Two months back I hired him to install some new lights and mirrors and gave him a deposit for the job. He took the money and then proceeded to avoid my calls. When I saw Mack in the bakery last week, I asked him for my money back.”
“That’s it?”
Annette picked up a blow-dryer and a brush. “Sorry it wasn’t more exciting. Are you asking because you’re curious or is there something more to it?”
I could feel ears straining across the room, so I chose my words carefully. “I was just wondering. He died in Mom’s rink, and I didn’t really know him well.”
She turned the blow-dryer on and attacked the little girl’s hair. “Sure. Well, if you need to talk some more, come by the house.” Glancing at me, she winked. “I’ll open a bottle of wine, and you can tell me everything.”
I winked back. Leave it to Annette to understand the unspoken. Moments later, I was in my car and driving to our former librarian’s house. I knew I was at the right house when I spotted four cats sunning themselves on the front porch.
Careful not to step on any tails, I made it to the front door and rang the bell. A minute later, I heard a timid voice ask, “Who is it?”
Using my most cheerful tone, I said, “Hi, Mrs. Piraino. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Rebecca, Kay Robbins’s daughter.”
The door opened as far as the security chain would allow, and a set of fearful eyes peered out at me. “Rebecca Robbins? Is that really you?”
Before I could nod, the door closed. I could hear the distinctive sound of the security chain being undone, and then the door flew open again. The diminutive Agnes Piraino appeared behind the screen door. With her white hair and sweet smile, she looked like everyone’s idea of the perfect grandmother. “How are you, dear? Your grandfather told me you were coming into town.”
I gave a tiny prayer that Agnes’s teeth hadn’t been soaking in my bathroom before getting to the crux of my visit. “I’m guessing you might have heard that Mack died yesterday at the rink.”
“I did, dear. It’s a shame when a person dies so young. At my age you expect to go any day, but Mack was a real shock. To think that someone in our town might have killed him…” Her eyes misted over, and she clutched her hands together.
I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and gave it a tiny squeeze. “I know. I feel bad since I don’t know a lot about Mack and he died at the rink. So I thought I would talk to people who knew him. I heard he did some work for you?”
“Oh, not me. He did odd jobs for my neighbor.” Agnes swung open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. Immediately, two cats rose and began rubbing against her legs. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Mack wasn’t very nice. He hated my babies for no reason. He was working next door on the fence, and my babies love people, so naturally they went to say hello. Well, Mack threw a fit like you’ve never seen. He started hollering and throwing things. He even painted poor little Hemingway’s tail. I made a report to the sheriff’s office, but they just told me to keep my babies inside.”
Agnes settled into an old rocking chair, and one of her babies jumped into her lap and began to purr. She pointed to the chair next to her, and I settled in.
“Did you follow their advice?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
Agnes shook her head. “I couldn’t. My babies weren’t meant to be cooped up inside. But I wished I had. Then Mack wouldn’t have kicked Precious.”
She pointed to a fluffy yellow cat that was coming up the steps. The minute the cat spotted me, its ears flattened and the hair on its tail stood on end. Seconds later, Precious’s lips curled back to reveal a set of very sharp teeth. For a moment I wondered what Mrs. Piraino needed with the security chain. Cujo didn’t have a thing on Precious.
“Was that the last time you saw Mack?”
Agnes stroked a cat’s back and tilted her head to the side. “I think so. Mack avoided me after that. I’m guessing the sheriff finally told him to leave me and my babies alone.” She leaned forward and gave me a sly look. “Sheriff Jackson and I dated when we were younger.”
I thanked Agnes for her information and got up to leave. Precious hissed and pulled back into a crouch, making me take a step backward.
“Stop that, Precious.” Agnes’s voice took on the authoritative tone I remembered from my library days. “Don’t mind Precious. She gets a little cranky if she doesn’t get her medication on schedule.”
Precious stopped hissing and gave me a flat stare. “If it makes her happy, you should probably give it to her,” I said. It would probably make the rest of the neighborhood happy as well. Who knows how many children Precious might eat without drugs?
“
I will, dear.” She assured me. “Thank you for stopping by. I like having visitors.”
I said good-bye to Agnes and Precious. Hurrying to my car, I scratched Agnes off my list of suspects. The woman might be a little batty about her cats, but she was harmless. Turning the key, I headed off for the next potential murdering maniac on my list.
Dr. Lionel Franklin’s veterinary clinic and farm was located about fifteen miles north of town. When I reached a green and white farmhouse with a sign reading LARGE ANIMAL VETERINARY clinic outside, I parked next to an enormous black pickup truck and hopped out of my car. A placard on the door said the doctor was in, so I rang the bell. When no one answered, I tried the handle.
Locked.
I decided since I’d driven all the way here I might as well look around. The sign did say the doctor was here somewhere. I wandered around the side of the house and followed the dirt path, poking my head into a few small sheds on the way. In one were some gardening tools; in the other, a couple of large pieces of farming equipment. No Dr. Franklin. I continued toward the large white barn at the end of the path.
The light was dim as I walked into the enormous barn and stopped. The smell of horses and hay wasn’t unpleasant.
“Dr. Franklin?” I called. My voice echoed in the barn, and several horses poked their heads over stall doors on either side of the wide center aisle to look at me.
When no human answer came, I took a few steps down the center aisle. A noise from the left stall made me jump. Curious, I poked my head in. Standing in the stall was a camel—and he was wearing a hat.
Four
I squeezed my eyes shut tight, shook my head, and opened my eyes again. The camel was still there, and he was sporting a black fedora.
I blinked.
The camel blinked back.
Then the camel poked his head over the chest-high door to get a closer look at me. Certain this was a hallucination, I reached toward the animal with my hand. The camel sniffed at me, and I petted its nose. The camel gave a funny little snort and rolled its eyes.