Harrowing Hats (22 page)

I wondered where Chase was and if we’d really have a chance to talk tonight. I’d already decided that if he sneaked out again, I was sneaking out after him. No more secrets. It was getting to where I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. That wasn’t going to work. I didn’t believe he was seeing someone else, but whatever he was doing had to stop.

As I passed the Dutchman’s Stage, I saw Neal Stevenson sitting on the stairs that led up to the stage. The magician who’d been the last act was cleaning up his props. Neal was drinking from a bottle of scotch, almost unheard of in the Village. We mostly prefer ale. I thought about the plan Andre and I had discussed earlier and decided to go and talk to him. Maybe he could help.

“Mistress Jessie.” He nodded so low that he almost fell off the stairs. “It’s very good to see you again.”

I didn’t quibble about being Lady Jessie. Instead I sat down next to him and started talking. “You’re here at the Village because of Rene and Renee, aren’t you?”

He waved his bottle as he swallowed a mouthful of scotch whiskey. “You have me at a disadvantage. You know why I’m here. But how did you get involved?”

I told him about looking everything up on the Internet. “How did you know Andre’s steptwins were here? Did you hear about Cesar’s death and that Andre was living here? Did you follow all of them here?”

“You’re good at guessing. Kathleen Hariot’s murder is still open. I’d like to help close it. I keep tabs on all the players. That’s why I’m here.”

“Are the twins paying you to work for them?”

He laughed. “I wish they were. That would be sweet, wouldn’t it?”

“But you want to write the story, right? That’s what you said when you asked me to spy on Andre for you.”

“You’re right. That was it. But I got my pink slip today. It seems my editor decided they could live without me, even if I’m working on the biggest story of my career.”

I studied his craggy face and large, fuzzy eyebrows. His nose was a little red at the end and his eyes looked as if he’d been crying. It was probably a major blow for someone his age to look for another job.

“I’m sorry. Maybe if you finish the story, your editor will be so impressed that he’ll want you back again.” I knew what it was like to be out of work.

“That’s very nice of you. But people are being laid off left and right these days. I don’t think the story will matter.”

“You can always sell it to someone else,” I reminded him.

“Because so many people are going to remember the death of Kathleen Hariot or care about the death of Cesar Rizzo? I don’t think so. I think I’m a washed-up old hack who doesn’t know enough about the Internet to blog or tweet or whatever they call it right now. I’m used to paper and ink. That’s all I know.”

I felt truly sorry for him. It would be like getting a notice from the Village that I was too old to come back again. Not coming here would be devastating. Old professors keep on teaching—but old Rennies might not be so lucky.

Despite my feelings toward him, I still felt like he could be useful in trapping the evil twins. “You know, the Village hasn’t had a newspaper in a couple of years. It closed down and no one wanted to reopen it. Maybe you could start another newspaper. I could help you.”

“Maybe. But this place”—he waved the bottle in the general direction of the area around us—“it’s like bizarro land. I don’t think I’d fit in here. Thanks for the offer.”

“I know it wouldn’t be permanent, but what if I could offer you a job for a while?”

“You mean doing something besides hanging out on the street beating this pan with a spoon? I don’t give a damn what it is—I’ll take it.”

We talked for a while longer about the Village and I tried to think where I could find a job for him, now that I’d offered. I hoped something would come to me. There was always something extra to do here. Maybe Chase could take him on as help during vegetable justice. He usually had an assistant.

“I’m sure we can find something for you.”
I hope
.

“Thanks. You know, I always thought it might be fun to be a truck driver. That was before I started writing. Maybe I’ll go to truck driver’s school. I could get into driving one of the big rigs.”

I didn’t mention that we didn’t have any of those in the Village, but what I could find for him would only be temporary anyway. I encouraged him to follow his dream, then promised again to check around for a job. We arranged to meet first thing in the morning.

I felt good about myself as we parted company. The evening was settling in but remained hot and humid. It would probably rain again tonight. I was glad to escape into the Dungeon and turn the air-conditioning on full blast upstairs.

I was a little anxious about Chase not coming home—I didn’t want to break our fragile truce, but I knew I’d have to say something neither of us would like if he didn’t show up.

Lucky for me (and him), he walked in the door at the stroke of seven P.M. Life was good!

“Tough day,” he said, changing clothes. “How’s Andre holding up?”

We made polite conversation as I waited for Chase to tell me what was going on. Whatever it was, it still wasn’t easy to say. I knew procrastination when I saw it. But it didn’t matter, I reminded myself, we had the whole evening. He could take his time.

It wasn’t easy listening to all the minute details of his day, knowing it was only a distraction. But I smiled and nodded, anxious for the answers I knew he had.

When I thought the last of my patience would burst out of me—there was a knock at the door. Chase seemed relieved when he went to answer it and found Detective Almond outside on the stairs.

I tapped my foot on the floor with a growing amount of impatience. What was he up to now?

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something.” Detective Almond came in and sat down at the table, his action belying his words. “Just wanted to catch you up on the Rizzo case.”

“Soda? Beer? Water?” Chase asked him, opening the mini-fridge.

“No, thanks. But you go right ahead and help yourself.”

“Anything new?” Chase opened a bottle of water and sat opposite him.

“A little. Nothing has changed as far as Hariot is concerned. He’s my man for Rizzo’s death. I don’t know how he managed it yet, but I’ll figure it out. In the meantime, we tracked down the PI from California who’s been hanging around the Village.”

He paused—it looked like he wanted to be sure I was listening.

“Private detectives have to register with the police if they want to work here. His name is Joe Bradley. He’s from Fresno. Good references from the police there. He completely denies holding a gun on your girlfriend or reporting to Andre’s stepkids.”

“Then why exactly is he here?” I asked in exasperation.

“He says he’s here looking for a felon who jumped bond out there. He’s licensed for that, too. The felon story checks out, by the way. Bradley says his man is working here under an alias. That’s possible.”

“I didn’t imagine the gun episode,” I said a little sharply. Between him and Chase, I wasn’t sure I had any patience left.

“Maybe you thought he said something he didn’t,” Detective Almond suggested. “You know how that is sometimes.”

“Maybe I imagined a gun, too?”

“I spoke with your security guys here.” He shrugged. “The man you asked for help didn’t see anyone with you. He says the only people he saw, besides other security guards and you, were maintenance men.”

“He was busy watching the water spray out of the fountains,” I explained. “Besides which, the whole area was dark until they turned on the stadium lights. The man held a gun in my side. Maybe it wasn’t this Bradley character that seems to be the salt of the earth. Maybe you have the wrong person.”

“You could be right. I’ll keep you posted if I hear about another private detective working here—if I can tell him from the other weirdos out here.” He nodded at Chase. “Let’s focus on tripping up Hariot. I’d like to be the one to close both of these cases.”

Chase didn’t say anything. Detective Almond strolled back out the door. The silence in the little apartment was scary. Usually, there wasn’t enough time for Chase and me to say everything we wanted to each other.

“You don’t believe him, right?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as anxious as I felt.

“If you say someone held a gun on you, Jessie, I believe you. Just because the man Almond talked to denied it doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. Or it could be a different man.”

I was almost completely relieved—but still waiting for my long-overdue explanation about why he kept disappearing.

“Let’s get some dinner, huh?” He got to his feet and held out his hand for mine. “We can talk about everything else while we eat.”

But it was then that his radio went off with a security alert that someone had broken into the Three Chocolatiers Shoppe again. “I have to get this. I’ll meet you at the Pleasant Pheasant,” he said.

“Not on your life!”

T
his time no one was there. The chocolate shop was empty, but someone had been there and had tossed around everything that wasn’t nailed down. It couldn’t get much worse.

“Maybe we should check on Bernardo,” I suggested as we walked through the mess of chocolate, sugar, and candy molds that were everywhere. “He was here looking for something before. Maybe he came back to look again.”

“You mean the chocolate recipe?” Chase asked. “Something else is wrong, Jessie. Whatever is lost in here, the person is going to keep coming back until they find it.”

He had the security guards padlock the doors this time. Normally, that wouldn’t be necessary, but since it seemed to keep happening, he had no choice.

“Are we going to check on Bernardo?” I wondered as we left what had been one of my favorite places in the Village.

“That might not be necessary.” He pointed to a spot on the stairs and another on the cobblestones, shining his flashlight there. “It looks like whoever did this walked out with some chocolate and sugar on their shoes. Let’s follow the trail.”

“Small feet, too,” I remarked as we walked back toward Fabulous Funnels, where the trail led. Of course, with my giant clodhoppers, I tend to notice these things.

“I know Detective Almond really wants Andre for Cesar’s death, but I think he’s wrong. I think he’s blindsided by the idea that both murders seem the same. Everyone is convinced Andre killed his wife, so he must be guilty here, too.”

“Except you?” I was careful to watch my step as we talked. I didn’t want to ruin the trail that could lead to Cesar’s killer. The small footprints turned back toward the fountain near Da Vinci’s Drawings.

“I guess.” He smiled. “But what do I know?”

“You know more about the Village than Detective Almond ever will,” I said in total support of his position. “And I agree with you. I don’t think Andre killed anyone.”

He hugged me for a quick moment. “Thanks. But you always see the best in everyone. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“That might be true. Except for the evil twins. And Wanda. I don’t think they have a best.”

We followed the ever-decreasing trail of chocolate and sugar until it reached the fountain, where it dead-ended. I could see some sugar granules sparkling on the edges of the stone basin, but there were no more tracks.

“I think our prowler noticed there was a trail.” Chase touched the sugar on the fountain.

“But we know whoever it was had small feet.”

“Which leaves out Bernardo.”

“It had to be a woman.”

“Or a man with really small feet.” Chase shook his head. “Don’t worry. Andre is small but not that small.”

“Who else could it be?”

“There are approximately three hundred women working here this summer. I guess you could add in a dozen or so younger men with small feet.”

“I think it’s Eloise,” I decided.

“Big surprise.”

“Okay. It could be Beth,” I admitted. “Although I don’t think this would be her style.”

He nodded. “All right. Because Eloise is dating Bernardo now, we’ll start with her.”

“You aren’t jealous are you?” I tried to see his face, but there were too many shadows.

“She’s not my type.” He put his arm around my waist. “I like my women tall, sassy, and curious to the point of getting themselves killed.”

“I guess I’m jealous now because that doesn’t sound anything like me.”

He knocked on the door of the upstairs apartment shared by the three sisters who ran the tart shop. It seemed like such a perfect combination—three pie-making sisters paired up with three chocolate-making brothers. I would’ve bet my matchmaking skills on it.

But Eloise apparently wasn’t happy with only one man. She wanted as many as she could get at one time. Which made her and Cesar a perfect match. Maybe they could’ve worked it out, except for Andre.

Belle, the youngest tart, answered the door. If I were going to like any of them, it would be her. She was very pretty but not so belligerent about it. She was also more quiet and shy. She didn’t talk trash like Angela and Eloise. She also never acted like she had a right to every man in the Village.