The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) (23 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me help you up.”

“Never mind. I’m already up.”

I repackaged my dignity as I dusted off my knees. Of course, my knees were sore but not in the least bit dusty because there was no dust anywhere in Tyler Dekker’s place. He could pass any white-glove test. It was unnerving.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he said. The tips of his ears were practically glowing.

“Yeah you do. And your ears are betraying you.”

He touched the top of his left ear and frowned.

“And you are just getting into your explanation, so tell a few more lies and you might never recover physically. While we’re at it, I’d like to say that you scared me. You were not home. You weren’t at work. You never answered the door or the phone or any texts. There was a body behind that house on Lincoln Way and for all I knew you were that body.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer you, but you must have figured out that I wasn’t dead. I know they told you I called in sick. You can hardly call in sick when you’re dead.”

“But someone could have called in for you, sounding sick. Maybe the same person that might have killed you. Did you think of that?”

“But it didn’t happen. Exhibit A: Me standing here.” He smiled, the chip in the incisor adorable as usual.

“Well, how could I know that?” I was getting grumpier by the second, despite his being alive.

“I appreciate your concern.”

Concern? Was that a synonym for worry and lack of sleep?

“Maybe you killed him.”

“What?” That sandbagged him. “Of course I didn’t kill him. How could you even suggest something like that?”

“Well, you were obviously hiding afterward.”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“Were.”

“I had my reasons, but not because I killed anyone.”

“It might have been in self-defense. Then you panicked and went to ground.”

He stared at me. “I’m a police officer. If I killed someone in self-defense, I’d file a report and go through all the internal procedures. I wouldn’t go to ground. And I don’t panic. We’re trained, you know.”

“Well, what did happen?”

“I can’t tell you. I can’t believe you think I killed him. He was stabbed. Do you really think I’d stab a person? Do you actually imagine that I carry a knife?”

“Maybe he lunged at you and—”

“No stabbing. No lunging. Not me.”

That was a relief, to tell the truth. No other comment came to mind for once. I bent over and rubbed my sore knees.

Finally, he said, “Do you want to come all the way in? Have a seat.”

“Yes.” I straightened up.

“As long as you don’t grill me on what I was doing.”

“I don’t grill you. When do I ever grill you?”

He shook his head. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Nope. So far I’ve had ham and eggs and zucchini, with gummy bears and Oreos for dessert, and it’s not even ten o’clock.”

He gestured toward the small, neat love seat. I sat. He took the recliner at a right angle to it. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it. I hope it won’t make a difference between us.”

Between us? That phrase insinuated that there was an “us.” Was there? It was news to me if there was, but I wouldn’t have been unhappy with “us,” except for the biggest problem. And I couldn’t say anything about that. Naturally, as was so often the case, the biggest problem was one Kevin Francis Kelly. Was Tyler Dekker investigating Uncle Kev? That was the only reason I could imagine for him to be sneaking around after us. Kev was mixed up in some bad situation and Dekker was on the case. If it had been the Adams family, surely Smiley could have mentioned it, without naming names or giving too much detail. If he’d been on the trail of that hit man, he could have just told me so. No. He was after my uncle and that was going to be a deal breaker. Just when I was starting to understand how I felt about him. Very tricky. Let’s face it: you can’t throw your uncle under a bus merely because some tomato-cheeked cop makes your heart thunder. No part of that would be acceptable under any circumstances in the Kelly clan. Ever.

“I can’t stay,” I said. “I just wanted to know that you were all right.”

“Why can’t you stay?”

“I have some places to be. Book places. You know. Work.”

“Oh. Maybe I should join you.” There was that grin again.

“What? No. You can’t.”

“Why not? Is the formidable Miss Van Alst along for the ride?”

“Vera? You know she never leaves the house. No, I have a friend who’s coming.”

“Right. And who’s he? Lance?”

“No, not Lance. It’s a girlfriend. She needs a bit of company and I need help lugging things. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Still sick,” he said. “I was just kidding about joining you. No need to get quite so defensive.”

“Speaking of defensive, are you going to be defensive about your dog?”

His eyes widened. “You have him?”

“Of course I have him. Well, he’s in a safe place.”

He ran his hand through his blond hair. “I’ve been to the SPCA and I’ve been in touch with the rescue sites. I put it out on Facebook and Twitter. I put signs up on every telephone pole in that neighborhood.”

I frowned. I hadn’t had time to get on Facebook or Twitter since all the stuff with Randolph and the books and the dog had been found. I certainly hadn’t checked the telephone poles. Too busy trying not to get arrested.

“Oh. What were you doing with that dog anyway? I figured you just borrowed it as a cover for whatever you were snooping for on Lincoln Way.”

He flushed. “He did come in handy, but that’s not why I have him. I wouldn’t take a dog just as a cover story.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He scowled at me, not something that came easy to him. “No. I would not. What do you take me for?”

“Then where did he come from?”

“That’s a story for another time and he’s mine now. His name is Cobain. Anyway, what are you talking about? You were there with a fake dog.”

I didn’t think I’d ever seen Smiley get upset before.

“Walter is not a fake dog. He’s Karen’s and he needed some exercise. We’re . . . I’m helping, as she hasn’t fully recovered.”

“Right. Exercise. In the pouring rain in the next town, miles from where you live.”

“I had a reason to be there. Karen had a client and she accidentally sold him some books that had been stolen from Vera. We were trying to make a trade to get them back. The family was being difficult and I wanted to try to get to see the client without them. That’s all. At least I can say why
I
was there.”

“Good for you,” he said.

“Well then,” I said. “Now that I know you’re alive, I’ll be on my way.”

• • •

CANDY WAS OUTSIDE
her Tahoe when I pulled up in the long driveway near the back door of the Van Alst House. She was pacing in the driveway, while talking into her cell phone and snapping her gum. Her bleached hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she had a Yankees hat on. Although it was a nippy fall day, she wore a pink fleece jacket over a sequined T-shirt, cropped jeans and open-toed sandals with heels. Her toenails were bright, each one a different color. She was sporting hoop earrings too. Big ones.

I was wearing a light-green wool shift (parish jumble sale) and a lovely pair of herringbone tights that I had saved for.

At least it wasn’t raining for once. The sun was starting to peek through the clouds, although the temperature seemed to be plummeting.

Candy clicked off the phone and waved merrily to me. “Ready, girlfriend?”

She offered me the package of gum.

I barely managed not to flinch. It was going to be a long morning.

We were dickering over whether to take the Tahoe or the Saab when the signora came flapping out of the house with a picnic basket, full of sandwiches, cookies, two Thermoses of coffee, carrot and celery sticks and fruit salad.

“For you friend, Jordan! Picnic! Eat! Eat!”

“Sure thing,” I said.

In the end, we took the Tahoe.

I figured I’d live.

• • •

I HOPED TO
make five stops. If Candy got called back, I planned to pick up my car and return.

The first stop, Once More with Feeling,
was near a good area of Fairlawn. We had lots of time to chat on the trip.

“So, you got a boyfriend?” she said.

I shook my head. Whatever Lance and Smiley were, they weren’t boyfriends.

I said, “You?”

“Broke up.” She chewed hard on the gum.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was a jackass. He left me for an older woman. That’s part of the reason I’m here. Needed a change of scenery afterward. Didn’t want to be running into him with her hanging off his arm. The urge to arrest might come over me.”

I laughed out loud. “My ex was a jackass too. He maxed out my credit cards and cleaned out my bank account before I caught on and ditched him. And you know what? That’s why I’m here too. I needed to make some money to get back to grad school. I hope to get a PhD in English.”

“Oh, a PhD? Well la-
dee
-da.”

“We have that in common,” I said. “Bad boyfriends. And if you ever run into mine, feel free to arrest him.”

“My mom blamed me for the breakup, said I shoulda took better care myself, been more feminine. To hell with that.”

“I hear you.”

“
Defer
to him.”

“Be glad you’re out of that.”

“You said it, girl. It’s good to be able to talk about these things.”

“It is.” I meant it too.

“You got other buds around here?”

I shook my head. “I have a best friend, Tiffany. She’s somewhere in Africa. She’s a nurse working on a clean water project. We’ve been close since we were college roommates. Now, I can’t even reach her. I miss having someone to vent to. What about you?”

“Well, I used to have a bestie back home, but she screwed me over.”

“Oh!” Have I mentioned that Candy was a person who could surprise you and often.

“You know how it is.”

I didn’t but I laughed anyway. “Maybe you should have slapped the cuffs on her.”

I was getting comfortable with Candy. We didn’t have much in common, but she was growing on me. She was big and bold and she scared me a bit. It’s not like I was drowning in friends. Candy took my mind off things I couldn’t do anything about: Uncle Kev and the Sayers books and whatever Tyler Dekker was up to.

We arrived at Once More with Feeling
before I even knew it. The store manager’s name was Annie and she greeted me by name. I introduced Candy.

“Lots of good stuff, Jordan. People are cleaning out closets. We got a good haul from some downsizers too. Have fun.”

I didn’t head straight for the books. There was no reason for them to know that the books were the main reason for this visit. Instead I made my way down the rows of coats, suits and jackets and finally to my favorite spot: sweaters. As it got nippier, I was on the lookout for top-of-the-line cashmere at rock-bottom prices.

Candy followed, managing to get in my way a good deal of the time. It was easier when she was in the car. At least she stayed in the driver’s seat.

“What are you doing now?”

“Checking for vintage clothing. People get rid of things and they don’t know they’re vintage.”

“What about the people who run the shop?”

“They’re not in the vintage business. They get donations and they want a lot of turnover. That’s how they fund their charities.”

“Huh. Well, I don’t know how you could wear somebody else’s old stuff.”

“They’re clothes. They can be washed or dry-cleaned, and you’d be surprised at how many pieces still have the tags on.”

It didn’t look like I’d make a believer out of Candy, but I managed to score a royal-blue cashmere twin set that had quite obviously never been worn. I worked at not looking too excited.

“Still gives me the creeps,” she said.

I hung on to the blue cashmere twin set as we wandered the aisles.

Candy’s face lit up. “Look at that Barbie! I never was into Barbie dolls, but Police Officer Barbie came out when I was eight years old.” She was pointing to a Barbie wearing a police uniform. The doll was still in its dusty box. If the box hadn’t been crumpled a bit, the doll would have been pricey. Now it was three dollars.

“You should get it,” I said.

She shrugged and said, “What about the books?”

“We’ll make them look like an afterthought. I have to wander around for a while.” Of course, I was holding the doll. Candy was busy scowling.

I said, “Maybe try not to look so intense. You’re making people nervous.”

The resulting smile probably made them a bit more nervous. I decided to quit while I was ahead.