The Pumpkin Thief: A Chloe Boston Mystery (11 page)

“It’s okay. I have a private eye on the case. I can imply it came from him if I need to show it to anyone.” Neither of us said which case. There was only one.

“Is Alex in town?” She looked me in the face for the first time. There were two of me reflected in her sunglasses and both looked grumpy.

“Yep. He got in yesterday.”

“Oh good. I’ve been afraid that you might find something bad while poking around.”

“Afraid why?” Wasn’t I supposed to find out things? That was usually the point of poking around.

“Afraid that it would be something dangerous.” I began to wonder what in the bloody blue blazes she had found in David’s other file that could make her so nervous. “I’ll have a cinnamon roll,” she said to Daddy in a normal voice. “And an orange juice.”

“Raised glazed for me,” I added. “Mary, this is my treat.”

“Thanks. Well, I best be going,” she said as she accepted the white bag and plastic bottle from Daddy. “Talk to you soon. Be careful now.”

“You know it.”

I paid Daddy, took my bag back to the cart, and then—unable to resist any longer—I opened the paper Mary had given me. It was a listing of assets in the Burns estate.

I whistled and this made Blue whine.

“Sorry,” I said. No wonder the town and David were in no hurry to find the heir. Even at the lousy interest rates banks were paying, the interest on almost two million dollars would be nice. And you could bet that both the town and David were charging the estate hefty fees for maintaining the accounts as well.

“Come on, Blue. We’re going home for lunch.” Blue sniffed at the bag and then wagged her tail.

*  *  *

“I have a bona-fide suspect,” I started to say as I came bursting in the door. But Alex got there first: “I’ve found Ryan Endicott. He’s a radio personality in San Francisco. Goes by the name of Ryan E. He’s kind of a shock jock.”

“I’ve found the motive too,” I finally said. “There were assets besides the property—”

“A million-six in assets.”

“A million-eight,” I corrected. “Plus the house.”

“There’s a problem with the scenario though,” Alex cautioned and my brain slipped into what I call Analytico. It’s a kind of logic tree that my brain draws when it wants to hunt down several possibilities at once. Mr. Jackman says in that way my mind is very like a computer. I arrived at a correct question without my usual muttering and then had to reengage the speaking part of my brain since I forget how to talk to people when I’m thinking hard. “He was on the air Halloween night?”

“Seems so. And his program can be downloaded from the internet.”

“But that could be faked— pre-recorded?”

“Yes, but not without effort. There was at least one viewer phone-in on the part I listened to. That would mean collusion, or editing in something from a previous show.”

“But he could know how to do that. He works in radio.”

“He could know.”

“We need to talk to the chief,” I said. “I think it’s time to go to San Francisco.”

“What about lunch first?”

“Here, I brought you a donut.” I handed him the bag with a smile. I didn’t want a stale donut anyway. I know Alex, when he’s missed a meal he is inclined to take a dim view of the world. Sugar and salt rock his world. “I’ll bake for you tonight. My espresso chip cookies.”

Alex sighed.

“Okay, let’s go get our asses kicked by the chief.”

“No, he’ll be happy about this,” I said, though I was beginning to have some doubts. “Actually, maybe you better stay here. There will be less talk if I go see the chief alone. If you’re there it’ll make for gossip.”

“Okay,” Alex agreed readily. The chief had been a little scary last time Alex met him.

“Want me to keep Blue?” he offered. I think Alex covets my dog.

“No, best if things look normal. Even if it annoys the chief.”

“Okay. It’s your funeral.” I frowned at this unfortunate turn of phrase.

*  *  *

I found the chief having lunch at his desk. He looked unenthused about his sandwich so I didn’t feel bad for interrupting. The station was bustling and I doubted that we could be overheard, but I was careful to lower my voice since I didn’t want to close the door. A closed door would cause more speculation than anything I might say.

“Boston, the town council has asked that the police field a choir for the annual singing in the park event. I guess the fire department and nurses and all the service people have choirs?” The chief’s voice wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t discreet either.

I nodded, sensing someone had come up behind me and was hovering near the door.

“Do you perhaps sing?” he asked hopefully.

“I do. It’s okay, chief. Just post a sign-up sheet in the break room. We have lots of good voices in the department and we do this every year. Officer Bryce is usually our choral director. We know what to do. You may also want to put up a sheet so people can get signed up for building the float.”

“Float?”

“We always make a float for the Christmas parade. Usually we just decorate a hay wagon with some garlands or something. The choir rides on it and sings. The parade is only five blocks. No big deal. After singing, we have a bean feed.”

“It sounds like a real Bacchanalia.”

“Not really. At least no one has ever gotten arrested. You don’t have to worry about us being off duty all day either. It takes only a couple of hours at most.”

“Thank God. I have to tell you that we never did this kind of thing in Chicago— except Saint Patrick’s Day.”

“No? Well, it’s pretty fun. You’ll get used to judging contests and doing community stuff. If you decide to stay.” The chief looked doubtful. “The town folks like it and it pays to keep them happy and on your side. My dad always says that you have to take people as they really are and not as you want them to be. You get tolerant or you get bitter.”

“I wouldn’t want that,” the chief said solemnly.

“Me either. I’m just glad you aren’t trying to get me involved with the Thanksgiving pageant.”

“Well….”

“No— not for anything on earth. Last time I volunteered I got attacked by a hysterical turkey.” The chief looked helpless but I stuck to my guns. “No. Never again. I will bring you a pumpkin for your desk, if you like. The office is kind of bare.”

“Thank you for the thought. And I’ll send Dale Gordon to work on the pageant. He should be good with turkeys,” the chief said and scribbled himself a note. “You wanted to see me about something else?” His voice was lower and I sensed the eavesdropper had moved on.

“Yes. I’ve located Ryan Endicott, the deceased’s half-brother. He has one hell of a motive for murder— if we can prove he had advance knowledge of his brother’s existence and their shared inheritance— and I think we can. David Cooper can help with dates when he notified people and stuff.” Even if we had to tie him up and beat him with rubber hoses to get that help. “But Ryan also has an alibi for that night.” The chief’s gaze was sharp and I was glad when he looked away to examine the paper I handed him.

“One hell of an alibi?” he asked. “Or just an alibi—because this looks like a damn fine motive to me.”

“That remains to be seen,” I said and then started explaining about the radio show. I met the chief’s eyes as I ended with: “I feel a cold coming on. I might need some time off.”

“Does Alex have a cold too?” He asked after a long moment. This was another turning point for the chief. My ‘help’ was going from fairly passive information gathering to active investigation in another city. He would have a hard time defending this if it ever got out. But the fact was that though Lawrence Bryce was competent enough at routine investigation, he hadn’t found the things I had. He also could not go off detecting in another city without getting permission from the San Francisco authorities— which could take forever. The chief wanted Hope Falls’ only homicide in a decade solved and quickly. The elections were only a week away. His job was on the line.

To confirm my thoughts, the chief said: “The autopsy results are back. Knife to the heart. From the back. Hector was taller than his killer. You called it.”

I nodded, waiting.

“We’ve contacted the police in San Francisco about the Sayers murders but there is no enthusiasm there. Ditto the Oregon police in reopening the Burns case. A couple tourists died in a fire. They are okay with that.” The chief was frustrated.

“Would it help you say yes to my leave if I told you that Alex was definitely feeling sick too?”

“If he is then you take a couple days off. And Chloe?” He said gently: “Be careful. I know you’re competent and strong and scary bright, but a stranger might not—”

“Might not find me formidable even if I carried a shotgun and a badge that said I worked for the IRS?”

The chief smiled briefly.

“Exactly.”

“That’s what Alex is for. I don’t plan on being brave. I’m just the private eye’s girlfriend,” I assured him blithely. “There won’t be any danger.”

“Give me your cell phone. I’m going to plug in my number anyway. If there’s trouble, you call.”

Chapter 12

Alex booked our flights online. He got some good last minute deals, but it was still far from cheap and I doubted the department would reimburse me.

While he arranged to pay for our torture at the hands of the airlines, I called Dad to ask him to watch Blue while I was gone. He got an update on the case as well. Then I called Mom to ask if she’d watch the cats (parity for the parents— can’t ask for help from one and not the other). Mom didn’t get an update on the case, which left her to assume that I was going down to meet Alex’s family. An amusing idea I shared with him after I had hung up.

“We could do that, you know.”

“Do what?” I asked, an idiot echo, but the idea was so foreign I couldn’t process it.

“See my folks. They’re curious about you. Mary Elizabeth has been singing your praises.”

That was a shocker. I didn’t think Mary Elizabeth praised anything but sunblock and moisturizer.

“Well…” I turned off the oven and pulled out the last sheet of cookies. The gas sputtered and flared then finally accepted death. When I can afford it, I am getting an electric oven. The open flames of the stove scare me (ditto candles) and electric ovens are better for baking anyway.

“These cookies are excellent— addictive even,” Alex said, grabbing three more off the cooling rack and going to the refrigerator for more milk.

“Well, I guess there are some people who should never have that first smoke, that first drink, that—”

“—first espresso chip cookie? But it’s too late now. I’ve had them and I want more.”

Alex being goofy made me smile.

“Okay. Let’s meet your parents. But just a short visit? We’ve got work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.” It would have sounded more respectful if he hadn’t had a mouth full of cookie.

*  *  *

We had to leave early Friday morning to drive to Seattle. We had to depart from Seattle and not Spokane— the trouble with last minute tickets. That meant dropping off pets before the sun was up. Blue didn’t whimper when I left, and I appreciated her being brave. I was suddenly having doubts about the trip. Blue could end up having an emotional gastritis or something and I wouldn’t be there.

“Call me when you get in,” Dad said.

“I will.” And I meant it. It was silly, but suddenly I felt like I was an immigrant setting off for the new world, possibly never to see my family again.

There was no sign of Halloween or Thanksgiving at the airport. Probably there was some federal regulation about not having any pumpkins that could hold bombs inside the airport. The seasonless nature of our surroundings was disorienting after the beauty of Hope Falls and I felt like I was going some place that was farther away from home than could be expressed with mere miles.

Alex closed his laptop just before they called us to board. “The janitor who was working Halloween night is working tomorrow night as well. His name is Esteban Nunez. I think he’s our best bet for finding out if Ryan E was actually at the station.”

“Good,” I said and meant it, though I was getting increasingly nervous about getting on the plane.

Alex waited until we were strapped in to tell me that we would be having dinner with his parents that very night and that it would be at his sister’s house. We would be going there straight from the airport.

I looked at my casual travel clothes and wanted to protest. We had agreed on his parents, not his whole freaking family and not right off the plane, but I bit my tongue. Maybe it would be best to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible. I was in town solely for the purpose of finding Ryan Endicott. But, relationships are not just about rearranging your interior life. It sometimes involves the exterior one as well. As happens eventually with all relationships, sometimes you have to do things you don’t want. Dinner with the family was one of them.

*  *  *

San Francisco’s airport was a lot like Seattle’s. Busy, characterless and dark. We had had a long layover in Portland when a landing gear light went on and we were late getting in. Alex had to call his sister and move dinner back an hour.

“I told her five was too early, but a prophet is never loved in his own land,” he muttered. “I said we might be delayed by weather, but does she ever listen?”

We got his car out of long-term parking and were finally on our way. Street lamps made streams of light, so close, so bright that there were no pools of darkness between them, and cars moved in them constantly. Day, night. It didn’t matter. The not so subtle background din pressed on my ears and I remembered why I hate visiting big cities. It is funny, given how much I love Blue, that I am really a lot more like a cat than a dog when it comes to facing new situations. I don’t like change. It makes me nervous.

The weather in San Francisco was lovely; the visit with Alex’s family was— predictably— not.

I had not been enthused about meeting the parents, Rosemary and Bob, and was even less so about doing it at the home of Alex’s sister. I knew Alex adored her and her kid, but Gwen sounded like the world’s most spoiled brat and lived down to my expectation by demanding another round of apologies for being late the moment we stepped in the door. I let Alex handle it. I wasn’t about to apologize for something that couldn’t be helped.