Lacing up my white skates, I glided onto the floor and did a few laps. Scary, but it felt good to stretch my muscles and have the wind racing against my face. I wasn’t the biggest fan of working out, but skating was different. Mom had laced me into skates after I’d taken my first steps, and as much as I fought against it, skating was a part of who I was.
Enjoying myself, I did another couple of laps, this time backward. When I didn’t fall on my face, I was inspired to try a spin.
Bad idea. I teetered off balance and landed flat on my backside. Again.
I struggled to my feet, rolled off the floor, and kicked my skates into the far corner of the office. Now I remembered why skating wasn’t fun for me. I had to face the reality that no matter how I tried, things weren’t going to be much different for me here at the age of thirty.
I sat down at the desk and typed up employee schedules and a summer class list while trying to ignore the icky feeling growing in my chest. When the rink opened and laughing kids filtered in, I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Leaving George in charge, I strolled out to my car. Time to head over to the sheriff’s office for a progress report.
A sign on the sheriff’s door said the office was out to lunch, so I pointed my car toward the outskirts of town and followed Lionel’s directions to Mack’s house. Maybe, if I was lucky, the key to unlocking his death was there. I’d find it, and then the townsfolk could put the murder behind them and I could sell the rink. Everyone would be happy.
Mack Murphy lived about three miles outside the Indian Falls city limits. The house was a large, bright red and white ramshackle structure surrounded by a tall wooden fence. I pulled into the driveway next to a blue Ford pickup.
I walked to the truck and tried a door handle. The door opened. Whoever towed it back from the rink parking lot hadn’t bothered to secure the vehicle. My luck was looking up.
I climbed inside. One thing was certain—Mack Murphy was a big slob. There were candy wrappers, petrified french fries, and a variety of fast-food bags scattered throughout the cab.
Yuck. A half-eaten Mars bar was stuck to several receipts in the center console. I pried the paper away from the gooey candy and read between the stains. Several receipts were for gas stations in Indian Falls, and two were from towns about twenty minutes to the west. Pocketing the receipts, I jumped out of the cab and walked around the back of the truck. Heaving myself up, I climbed into the truck bed.
The back of the truck didn’t yield any information, either. I found some tools, a few boards, some nails, and—wait, tucked inside the toolbox was a note to Mack from Annette. She was threatening legal action if her deposit money was not returned and warning him not to tell anyone about their other arrangement—or else.
I couldn’t help wondering, or else what? Annette wasn’t the type to go around threatening people. At least I hadn’t thought she was. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure, and that made me feel queasy.
I started to pocket the note, then thought better of it. When the sheriff finally left his petunias, he would start looking for evidence. The chocolate-covered receipts didn’t look all that important, but this did, and obstructing justice wasn’t on my to-do list. Paying Annette another visit was. There were a few blanks she needed to fill in. I put the note back where I found it and hopped down from the truck.
Back on the ground, I followed a graveled path to the porch and tried the front door handle.
Locked. No surprise there. I peered through the front windows and wandered around the porch trying to decide what to do next. Smashing a window wasn’t a viable option, and I had no idea how to break in. Northern Illinois University hadn’t offered a class on picking locks.
Ooof. My foot caught on something, and I found my nose pressed up against the porch’s floorboards. I pushed myself up to my knees and brushed off my pants. First the tumble at the rink, and now I tripped on the welcome mat.
I looked down wondering if Mack was the kind of guy who left a key hidden in case of an emergency. I flipped over the welcome mat. Aha! Taped to the back was a key. Magnum PI, eat your heart out.
I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and locked the door behind me. Yikes! I suppose the mess in Mack’s truck should have prepared me for his house. Still, I guess I’m an optimist. I had hoped for the best. Too bad it was worse.
The living room was strewn with clothes, tools, and what I hoped were empty fast-food bags and pizza boxes. Buried beneath the junk was a purple sofa. The walls were covered by faded red and white gingham wallpaper. Not my idea of country charm. Doreen would have a harder time selling this place than the rink—and nobody had died here.
A good investigator would no doubt search through the cardboard clutter. I, however, just kicked some pizza cartons out of my way and walked the almost cleared path to the dining room. If Mack had a secret, it would have to be in plain sight. I wasn’t brave enough to risk dislodging any guests that had taken up residence in the debris.
The mess continued into the dining room, only now it was piled on an old dining room table and six chairs. To my surprise, the kitchen was in better shape. Sure, the floor could use a good sweeping, but there weren’t any dishes in the sink, and the counter was free of crap. Baffling, to say the least.
Searching the drawers netted me some silverware and other cooking utensils. No clues. Same with the cupboards. The problem was, I was searching for a needle in a haystack and wasn’t even sure I’d know the needle if I saw it.
Finished in the kitchen, I followed the back staircase upstairs to a narrow hallway. The scarred floorboards screeched with every step, making me shudder. I thanked God it was still light outside. Walking around a dead man’s house in the dark would have been too creepy.
The first door off the hallway opened into a bathroom. Since I didn’t think soap scum and bathtub ring were going to help me, I moved to the next door. Unmade queen-sized bed, scattered clothes, overflowing hamper—must be Mack’s bedroom. I rifled though his dresser drawers, trying to ignore the stained underwear and shirts. Nothing there.
I looked around the room, certain there had to be something here. His bedroom was an obvious hiding place, right? So I had to ask myself—if I were Mack, where in my room would I hide something important?
Looking at the bed, I remembered Pop telling me about people he knew using their mattresses as safe deposit boxes during the Great Depression. They shoved all sorts of savings and important documents among the feathers and springs. What were the chances that Mack had heard the same stories? He already hid a key under a welcome mat. Would he actually hide something important under his mattress? It couldn’t be that easy, right?
I sent the bedding and pillows flying as I lifted the mattress up and looked underneath. Blinking twice, I grinned. Mack’s lack of creativity wasn’t very bright, but it was convenient. Taped to the underside of the mattress were three envelopes. I peeled one loose and let the mattress fall back onto the box springs.
Peering in the envelope made me suck in my breath. The envelope was filled with one-hundred-dollar bills. Thirty of them. A quick inventory informed me that the other two envelopes contained the same amounts. Mack had nine thousand dollars under his mattress, and still he was taking deposits from people without intending to do the work. Why?
With a sigh of regret, I tucked the envelopes back under the mattress for safekeeping. A little extra cash would help cover my city apartment’s rent while I worked to sell the rink. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to take any. Karma had already kicked me in the ass. I didn’t need to give it a reason to take another swipe.
Leaving financial temptation behind, I went down the hall. The next room was almost empty except for a few tables, a couple of rolls of packing tape, and a lot of cardboard boxes in a variety of sizes. Not much to find in there. I continued to the last door.
The first thing I noticed was how clean this room was. No wrappers or empty soda cans here. On the far side of the space, next to the window, was a large wooden desk with a l
aptop computer perched on it. I also saw a combination printer, fax machine, and copier. To my right was a wall of shelving filled with old toys, lunch boxes, comic books, and knickknacks. A little strange but completely dust-free. I appreciated that.
Sitting down at the desk, I put my finger on the start button of the laptop—then stopped. Did computers keep track of every time they were turned on? If they did, and the sheriff ever got out of the daffodils long enough to check this place out, he might wonder why Mack’s computer had been used after Mack died. While the contents of the computer had me curious, looking wasn’t worth the risk.
I contented myself with going through the desk drawers. Nothing. That left the contents of the desk shelves. I scanned the labels on Mack’s CD cases. He had a few computer games, a couple of office programs, and one CD case labeled business. That looked promising. I slid the plastic case off the shelf and opened it. On top of the CD inside were a key and a slip of paper with a name and phone number scribbled on it.
I slipped the CD case and its contents into my purse and gave the room a final once-over. When nothing else jumped out at me, I headed down the hall to the stairway and into the kitchen.
Slipping out the kitchen’s back door, I started down the flagstone path to a small gardener’s shed. I didn’t think it would be a den of clues, but I was here anyway. I poked my head in. Nothing in there but cobwebs and an old riding mower. Big surprise. Well, at least I’d found the CD and key. Who knows, maybe they would lead me to Mack’s murderer. The only way to find out required a computer. It was time to head back to the rink.
I walked across the backyard and through the gate just in time to see an Indian Falls squad car pulling up right behind mine. Oh no, I thought. Busted.
Seven
“I thought I told you to let me and the sheriff do our jobs.” Deputy Sean sauntered toward me with a scowl. “What do you think you’re doing here, Rebecca?”
He leaned on my car. My shoulders tensed as his handcuffs banged against the passenger door. After a year I’d managed to keep the car unscratched, which was practically a miracle, living in Chicago. Getting the first ding from Deputy Pompous would be seriously depressing. Deputy Sean grinned at me and added, “You know, you should be careful. Sniffing around out here might get you more than a little graffiti on your front door.”
I stood up straight. That sounded like a threat, and I didn’t like threats. Of course, angering the cops after just breaking into a murder victim’s house was not exactly my brightest idea. Sean could make trouble for me, and I already had enough of that. I needed to make nice.
“I’m sorry,” I cooed, batting my eyelashes. “After finding Mack’s body and getting that message on the rink door, I’m a little edgy. You’re a cop, which means nothing frightens you, but I’m scared.” Of staying in Indian Falls for the rest of my life, I finished the sentence in my head. Taking a step forward, I gave Sean what I hoped was a pleading look. “I know you don’t need my help, but I couldn’t stop myself from coming out here. Sitting around doing nothing would drive me crazy.”
Sean’s angry frown eased into a toothpaste commercial smile. “I’ll let it go this once. You’ve had a rough time, but make sure you steer clear of our investigation from now on.” He put a hand on his holster. “Don’t you worry, Rebecca. We’re going to break this case wide open before you know it.”
I managed to thank him and get to my car without laughing. Sean had sounded like he’d been reciting lines from a bad action flick. I turned the key in the ignition and noticed Sean watching me. I drove off with a small wave, hoping he didn’t dust the house for prints. Mine would be everywhere. Somehow I didn’t think Deputy Holmes would let me out of that one with only a Clint Eastwood monologue as punishment.
The Village People echoed through the rink as I walked through the door. Kids skated round and round singing “YMCA” at the top of their lungs. It was the same thing I did at their age. Scary, I thought, some things never change.
Slipping into my office, I pulled Mack’s BUSINESS disk out of my purse and slid it into the computer. While the computer was booting up, I examined the key that had been hidden inside the case. It had a square top and a faded number etched in that could be the number seventeen…maybe. Besides that, it looked like a plain old key that could fit any number of locks.
The menu for Mack’s disk appeared on my computer screen. The disk contained a total of three files. I clicked on the first one, and a spreadsheet appeared.
From what I could tell, it documented Mack’s handyman business, organized by month and year. I scrolled down to a year ago. There was my mother’s name, a list of the jobs he’d been hired to do, the dates on which he’d contracted them, the dates on which he’d completed them, and then the dates on which he’d been paid. I scrolled back up and found Annette’s name. Mack had entered the money received and the date contracted but no completion date. Seven other incomplete jobs—all with money received—gave me more suspects. I scribbled down the names of the customers and clicked on the next file.
It contained a letter, and not a very polite one at that. Mack was demanding fifty thousand dollars in exchange for…something. What, I had no idea. The letter was dated three weeks ago, but there was no addressee named at the top. Something told me extortion was a better motive for murder than unfinished work. Maybe Mack had information on someone. Maybe Annette? That my mother’s best friend could be involved seemed unrealistic, or maybe I was just engaging in wishful thinking. I clicked on the next file, hoping for a clue to the letter’s recipient.
Another spreadsheet, only I couldn’t make heads or tails of this one. The first column contained a letter followed by several numbers. The next was date received, followed by date shipped. A dollar amount appeared at the end of each row. Mack didn’t provide an explanation of the codes he’d used, so they could mean anything. Nowhere did I find mention of the key I had in my hand.
I was at a dead end with the CD. I grabbed the paper with the scribbled name and number. Theodore Bosikus. Never heard of the guy, but the area code was familiar. It was a Chicago number. I decided to let my fingers do the walking. The mysterious Theodore answered on the first ring.
“Bosikus Investments, Theodore speaking. How can I help you?”
Investments? A guy who hid nine grand under his mattress didn’t seem like the type, but what did I know? Doing my best impression of a serious professional, I answered, “Hello. My name is Rebecca Robbins. Mack Murphy recommended your company and gave me your number.” Okay, technically Mack didn’t give me the number, but I figured Theodore didn’t need to know that.
“Murphy? One second.” I heard some typing on the other end, and the voice returned. “Oh sure, Mackenzie Murphy. I talked to him a couple of weeks back. He wanted to know my thoughts on markets and stocks. You know, I got to admit I’m surprised he recommended me. At the time we spoke, he didn’t have the minimum amount I require to invest.”
“He didn’t tell me that.” At last a moment of truth. “He did say you knew a lot of about stocks and how to get the most out of an investment.” That quickly, my brush with truth vanished.
I could hear Theodore preening on the other end of the line. “I do. Although I must admit my strategy is riskier than that of a lot of investors. That made Mack nervous. Me and my clients like going for the big payoffs. The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward—that’s my motto. Why don’t I get some of your information, then we can talk about your investment options.”
My mind whirled. Something was strange about this whole thing. Theodore was way too chatty about Mack’s business for my taste. His runaway mouth was good for a beginner detective like me but bad as far as professional ethics went.
I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know any of my personal information. I said, “Can I call you back, Theodore? I’m at work, and my other line is ringing.” Ring. Ring. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
Dropping the receiver back in the cradle, I said a small prayer that
he didn’t have caller ID and leaned back to consider what I’d learned. Besides the fact Mack’s real name was Mackenzie, not much. Theodore’s company couldn’t be the source of Mack’s financial need. Mack hadn’t invested yet, which I considered a smart move on his part. Big risks might lead to big payoffs, but they also led to big debts. I saw that a lot in my line of work. Mack’s mattress retirement plan was a much better option.
“Ms. Robbins?”
I turned to see Doreen’s granddaughter hovering in the office doorway, wearing white shorts and a blue T-shirt. Without the goth attire, Brittany almost looked like a normal Indian Falls teenager. If there was such a thing. “Did you need something, Brittany?” I asked.
Brittany took a hesitant step into the office. “I was just wondering how you were after everything that happened. You know…” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m fine, Brittany. Thanks for asking.”
Brittany took another creeping step forward. “No problem.” She nibbled on a lock of hair. “My grandmother said someone like you wouldn’t be freaked.”
I blinked. “What does ‘someone like me’ mean?” I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like the answer.
Brittany took a seat in the chair across from my desk and shrugged. “My grandmother said people get murdered in the city all the time. She said you’re a city person now. That’s why seeing a dead body wouldn’t upset you.”
Shaking my head, I got up and walked around the desk. Apparently, there were a few misconceptions I had to clear up. “Just because I live in the city doesn’t mean I stumble over dead bodies when I walk down the street.” If I did, I wouldn’t bother to pack. I’d just get the hell out of Dodge.
I leaned forward. “Between you and me, finding Mack in the bathroom really bothered me. I think it would bother anyone.”