The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) (20 page)

I finally got a chance to break into the conversation to thank her.

“I appreciate this, Lainie. Don’t worry. I won’t confront them.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be going around asking questions about them. You wouldn’t want them to get wind of it.”

“You’re right. I don’t want them to get wind of it. They’ve already tried to kill me.”

“Will you stay away from them?”

“Yup. Thanks so much for this.” I decided not to mention that Uncle Kev, one of the least careful people on the planet, was at the moment nosing around Bridge Street at George’s Diner and would be asking about them.

“I’ll see if I can learn more about them. I have no connection to them, so that’s probably a bit safer.”

“Thanks. I’m going in a different direction anyway. I’ve got a line on some other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

“It’s ancient history, well before your time here in Harrison Falls.”

“Please try to be careful. And remember that I am just a phone call away.”

I was still smiling before I hung up. I was glad to have Lainie in my corner. At least I had a friend. Poor Vera couldn’t even say that. I’d thought of myself as her friend, and where had that gotten me? Uncle Kev could be viewed as a friend, but you couldn’t count on him to succeed in helping. Eddie, the now-retired postal carrier, was devoted to her, but he was in Florida. I would have been happier with Eddie around. He was timid, but he was intelligent and he cared. How long was that cruise going to last? I wasn’t even sure when it had started. Eddie ate like a bird and was allergic to alcohol, so what kind of time would he have been having on a cruise? He’d be missing Vera. Eddie had been besotted with her since school. Vera had only gone to school in Harrison Falls for a year. The chances were very good that Eddie would know about any relationship, positive or negative, that Vera had with Muriel. Maybe he’d even know what hold Muriel had over Vera.

Was there a way to reach Eddie?

There had to be.

Eddie was always lurking about Van Alst House. Vera wouldn’t have had his telephone number, if he even had a cell phone. There was no need. Kev and Eddie had mainly ignored each other in the quest for Vera’s affections, so he most likely wouldn’t have it either.

Perhaps the signora would. Somehow they’d managed to communicate, and Eddie often hung around the kitchen with her.

I’d never seen the signora use a telephone, but Eddie used to pick up things at the grocery store for her. Did she call him?

Worth asking.

Kev would be the person to try to get the phone number out of the signora.

As I drove home, happy with this new line of inquiry, I was passed by an ambulance and two fire trucks heading along the river and out of town. A pair of police cars followed, roof lights flashing and sirens wailing.

At least they were all heading away from George’s Diner, where I knew Uncle Kev could inadvertently do a lot of damage.

Unfortunately, two minutes later, another fire truck thundered past me heading in the direction of Bridge Street, raising the worry quotient.

In my family we have a little saying: Where there’s smoke, there’s Kevin.

*   *   *

“NOT MY FAULT,”
Kev said. “I was just trying to blend in by helping in the kitchen. Some of that cooking oil has a real low flashpoint.”

I rubbed my temples.

Kev burbled on. “Anyway they got it out soon enough, although Flo is a bit upset with me and she won’t be talking too much.”

“Oh great. So a waste of time and a threat to life and limb.”

“What? It wasn’t a waste. I got a great lunch there. Big fries, hand cut. Flo said it was on the house.”

“But the information, no go?”

“It was a go.”

“Just tell me,” I snapped. I try to be gentle with Kev because he’s a delicate flower, but really, sometimes that’s too hard.

He sniffed.

“I’m sorry. What do you mean it was a go?”

“She knew them all right.”

“Great. Did you get any kind of hint about the hold Muriel had over Vera?”

“No. Except that maybe Vera’s father had a thing going with Muriel’s mother. But that wasn’t new. Vera would have known that. Everyone did. So it couldn’t have accounted for the change.”

“What change?”

“Something happened and they started to get along. Be friendly. Then almost as suddenly, they weren’t friends again.”

“No clue what it was?”

“Well, we were just getting to it when the thing with the oil happened, so it kind of ruined the talk with Flo.”

“I bet it did.”

“But there was something else before I forget.”

“What?”

“Trying to remember.”

“Was it something Flo said?”

“I think so. It was important. I know that.”

“Keep thinking. About Vera? About Muriel?”

“No and no.”

“About Mr. Murphy?”

“No.”

“About Muriel’s stepfather?”

“No.”

“Vera’s father?”

“No.”

“Call me when you think of it.” How important could it be?

“I remember. Those guys.”

“What guys, Kev? You mean the Rileys?”

“Yeah!”

“What about them?”

“They were there.”

“At George’s?”

“No, at the school at the same time.”

“What? That’s not possible.”

“It is, Jordie. Flo looked at the picture I had and she knew them right away.”

“But Junior’s in his twenties, Kev. He couldn’t have been at school with Vera.”

“Not him, silly Jordie. But the other one, the father. They all knew each other. Except for Junior, who wasn’t born yet.”

“Thanks, Kev. Good work.”

Except for the kitchen fire.

“You know what?”

“What, Kev?”

“Flo thought there was a thing between Muriel and the older guy.”

“Frank?”

“Yeah. Frank.”

“Could be really important. Wow. It could mean that if they had something going, maybe Frank was involved in the hit-and-run of Muriel’s stepfather.”

Kev said, “Frank couldn’t have been committing hit-and-runs all the time. Sooner or later, even the dumb cops here would pick him up.”

I cleared my throat.

“Sorry, Jordie. I didn’t mean your dumb cop. He’s not that dumb, but you know, the rest of them.”

I wasn’t even bothered with Kev’s dig at Smiley, because he had identified two major connections. The friendship between Vera and Muriel was important especially since it ended abruptly, and the fact that Frank Riley had been at school and had a “thing” for Muriel was bang-on.

“You hit the nail on the head.”

Kev blinked. “I did?”

“Twice. Frank most likely doesn’t go around committing hit-and-runs or whatever the expression is. He’s a thug, but he only gets really down and dirty when Muriel’s around. First her stepfather was killed, which worked out very well for her. Now this week, there’s another one when she’s back in town for the first time in nearly forty years and determined to get control over Vera and get rid of Vera’s allies; that’s me.”

“But why would he do it?”

“I don’t know. Money? Love?”

“Couldn’t be love. She just gives me the shivers.”

“Speaking of weird love, can you try to get Eddie’s phone number from the signora?”

“Eddie’s . . . ?”

“Yes. Eddie has known Vera since high school, so—”

“He’ll know these guys too.”

“And maybe he’ll know what happened back then between Muriel and Vera.”

“Wow. But I’m not sure that—”

“Just do it, Kev. And call me as soon as you have it.”

*   *   *

I DROVE HOME
worrying about how we could reach Eddie and whether I was ultimately responsible for any damage at George’s Diner and what Muriel could get up to before we managed to get rid of her.

Once there, I did my best to reassure the cats that the supply of new food wouldn’t run out and in any case, they would soon be back terrorizing everyone at Van Alst House. I assured the dogs that the cats could not unlock the door from Uncle Lucky’s apartment and take over Uncle Mick’s and my side. I sounded more confident than I felt.

I reheated a nice selection of the signora’s food and made myself a late lunch. All those treats had given me an appetite. After that, I enjoyed a slice of caramel cheesecake and one of the pumpkin muffins. Didn’t want to show favoritism to either Lainie or Mindy, two of the loveliest people I knew.

Maybe it was a sugar overdose. Or the lingering results of my collision with the truck. I soon began to think that maybe I shouldn’t have ignored the doctor’s warning about not doing too much. Another bout of dizziness and fatigue set in fast. I didn’t even make it upstairs to Ponyville. The stairs were simply beyond me. I crashed on Mick’s comfy old sofa, with two dogs vying for the small leftover section.

My last waking thought was that Archie would be disappointed in my lack of stamina.

When I woke up, the sky had taken on a late afternoon gloom. The day was disappearing. The dogs hinted at walks and meals missed, although it was just after four. There was a distant yowl of dissatisfied Siamese.

I sat up and my head spun. It also throbbed. I felt like hell. I managed to get the dogs around the block. The bracing cold air helped a bit. This wobbliness was very bad just when I needed to get cracking on the Muriel situation. We wobbled back to the house and I gave myself a good talking-to.

Uncle Mick wasn’t around, but his solution for when you felt bad was always grilled cheese sandwiches with Velveeta. I tried it and it made all the difference. I contemplated having a couple of desserts as they were temptingly available, but decided to forgo the sugar buzz and think.

I went back to my piece of paper and began to make lists again. I updated my notes:

Muriel and Vera had been enemies

They became friendly

Don’t know why

They fell out of friendship again

Don’t know why

Muriel has something over Vera

Don’t know what

Frank Riley was at school at the same time

Muriel had an alibi for the time of the hit-and-run that killed Pete Delaney

Could Frank have killed him for her?

How to find out?

*   *   *

I SAT THERE
chewing the end of the pencil and listening to Cobain’s tail thump on the floor. I thought as hard as my fuzzy head would allow. There was something else flickering at the edge of my consciousness. What?

Something to do with police.

I felt a little tingle as it came to me. Detective Jones. Wasn’t he the same age as Vera and Muriel and Frank Riley?

Was the fact he was “on” the case and doing a terrible job of investigating my own hit-and-run more than a coincidence?

I added Detective Jack Jones to the list.

The phone rang and jerked me out of my deep, dark thoughts.

“Bo Peep?”

“Yes.”

“I found Eddie’s number in Florida. He left it with the signora in case of emergency. I guess this is an emergency, right?”

“If it’s not, I don’t know what would be,” I said.

“You should call him. If I call from here and he’s not there, he might call back. We wouldn’t want him phoning and Muriel picking up.”

“I’ll do that. But I need you to do something too.”

“Anything!”

“Can you find out from Flo if Detective Jack Jones was also in high school at the same time as Vera and Muriel?”

“Oh boy, Jordie, I mean Bo. I don’t think that will work. Flo’s a bit upset with me.”

“Of course, she is. Silly me. But maybe we can put your friend Cherie on it.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll get in touch with her. She can do anything.”

“And you trust her, right?”

“With my life,” Kev said.

Well. It wasn’t like we had every option in the world.

I got Eddie’s Florida number and the Eagle went off to track down Cherie.

*   *   *

I WAS HOPING
that Eddie and his mother were back from their cruise and kicking myself that I hadn’t paid that much attention to the details when he’d told us about it.

No answer. I got one of those pre-recorded messages that mean you can’t tell if you’ve reached the right person. Naturally, it didn’t reveal Eddie’s whereabouts or his return date. Never mind. I took a chance and left a message telling Eddie we urgently needed his help. I was very clear that Eddie (if it was Eddie) was to call me on my cell. He was not to call Vera first under any circumstances. I added mysteriously that this was all for Vera’s safety. I would explain why when we spoke.

I hung up and thought about it. Eddie and I had shared some cryptic exchanges since we’d met last spring, but now I worried this one had too little detail.

I called Eddie back and left him a longer message with the full story: I told him how Muriel had moved in and intimidated Vera. I emphasized that Vera was being cut off from her support system and that we feared for her well-being. I explained that we needed information. I mentioned Jack Jones too, just in case.

I got myself another piece of caramel cheesecake and turned on the regional news to see if there was any mention of the kitchen fire at George’s and specifically any mention of Kev. Because that might take some dealing with, as the aftermath of Kev’s activities so often did. Even the radio announcer’s solemn, deep voice didn’t prepare me for the shock of the breaking news.

The bodies of two men have been retrieved from just outside Harrison Falls by emergency personnel this afternoon. The men, a father and son, are believed to have drowned. They died when their truck left Long Boundary Road and plunged through a guardrail and into the river. Their names have not yet been identified, as the next of kin have not been notified. Police believe that another vehicle may have been involved in the crash and are asking anyone with information to come forward.

T
WO MEN IN
a truck, dead. A father and son.

The Rileys?

Had they tried to run someone else down and ended up in the river? I pushed the cake away and headed back to the sofa. The dogs were pleased but I was very troubled. What were the chances that the father and son in a truck were anyone but Frank and Junior? In this part of upstate New York there was no shortage of trucks with fathers and sons riding in them.

But if it was the Rileys, I had a pretty good idea who might have caused their deaths: Muriel Delgado. Had Muriel learned I was still asking questions about her all over Harrison Falls?

Ideally, I should have taken my suspicions to the police. But what would I have said? That Muriel Delgado may have thought they could link her to not one but two hit-and-runs? I had nothing aside from the fact that she and Frank Riley had been at school together. We now had Detective Jack Jones in the mix. He’d seemed to be hot on my trail this morning on Main Street. And he showed a bias against me for sure.

The dogs snuggled up and Walter snuffled in my ear. I think that meant a walk would be good. But it could have meant,
Please let me eat that cake or chase those cats
. Cobain is always more mellow and a bit sad. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, so he got a scratch on his ears. I wasn’t going anywhere until I figured out what to do next.

I leapt to my feet when my phone rang.

Eddie?

I sure hoped so.

“Bo Peep?”

“Kev, I’m trying to stay off the phone in case Eddie calls back.”

“Okay, but I’m going out of my mind here. Muriel’s been driving us crazy for a day.”

“Has she gone out at all in the past day or so?”

“Are you kidding? The signora and I would be celebrating if she’d even leave us alone for fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks. Gotta go, Kev. I’ll be in touch. And by the way, have you heard from Cherie?”

“Nothing. Oh no, here comes Muriel. I can’t even use the phone without her appearing out of nowhere. Every time I try, she’s right there. Bye.”

“Wait! You’re sure she hasn’t left Van Alst House?”

“Darn sure. I spent the past day and a half trying to stay out of her way. It ain’t easy, Jordie.”

“So then she couldn’t have killed the Rileys.”

Kev said, “What? You mean those guys who delivered her stuff?”

“I think they’re dead, Kev. I doubt that it was an accident. And if I’m right, that means things are ramping up. Muriel’s getting rid of them because they were weak links. They were stupid and obvious and I was asking questions about them. They could lead back to her so they had to go.”

“But she couldn’t have killed them, Bo Peep. She never left Van Alst House.”

“Fine, like in the other cases, she made it happen. So you know what this means, don’t you, Kev?”

“No. What?”

“That the Rileys were killed and Muriel was in full view of witnesses, making sure that you were all aware of her presence. Same tactic as the other hit-and-run. That means she has someone else working with her.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. And the people most likely to have the truth tricked out of them are now dead.”

“I knew she was trouble.”

“Yes. And now we have to worry about Vera. She is more and more vulnerable.”

“But what does Muriel want from her?”

“I’d say everything she has, wouldn’t you, Kev?”

*   *   *

OKAY, SO MY
intuition told me the dead father and son were the same people implicated with my attack and connected with Muriel. I had an idea how to confirm that.

I did realize that the red wig wouldn’t work, but it wasn’t the only arrow in my disguise quiver. I put on my black turtleneck and jeans. I found a short black bobbed wig and some fake heavy-framed glasses. Poof, I was a beatnik and a good one too. A quick trip down the back alley to the Kelly car storage area yielded a battered Ford Focus with Alabama plates.
We dare defend our rights.
Well, I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

I had to leave the dogs behind as too many people would recognize them and put two and two together. Ditto my deep orange purse.

It wasn’t long before I pulled into the parking lot at Sullivan’s. It was late afternoon and I was surprised by the number of cars in the lot.

I stepped inside the seedy bar and looked around. I thought I had my answer. People were talking in low voices, looking somber. At one table, a couple of dark-haired women were crying.

I stopped the waitress on her way to the bar. I recognized her from our earlier visit. She hadn’t smiled then and she didn’t now. She hadn’t been too impressed with Cherie, but she’d never noticed me. Good. I fished out my best southern accent courtesy of my years of friendship with Tiff. “Sorry, but Ah’m from out of town and Ah’m looking for the Hudson Café. Ah think it’s on Bridge Street?”

“Nowhere near here,” she said. “You gonna order anything?”

“Ah should be going.”

“Fine. Step outside and I’ll point the way.” As we stepped through the door she said, “You don’t have a GPS?”

“Giving me real strange instructions. I almost found mahself in the river.”

“Yeah, that happens. Stay out of the river. It’s—” She bit her lip.

“Something wrong, honey?” I said. “Inside everyone looked like someone died.”

She nodded. “Someone did die. Two someones.”

“Really? Two?”

“Father and son. Frank and Junior Riley. Their truck went into the river today. They drowned.”

The Rileys were pretty vile, but that was a terrible way to go. “You must be so upset.”

She shrugged. “A lot of customers are getting emotional.”

“Were they your friends?”

“No, they were not my friends. They were a pair of useless jackasses with wandering hands, but I wouldn’t wish that end on anyone.”

“Ah’m sorry to hear this.”

“Not your fault.”

I smiled and pressed ten dollars into her hand. A nice tip and one that would get me her attention if I needed to come back again.

“Thank you kindly,” she said. “And no offense, but I spent ten years in the south and you should work on that accent until you get it right. Your clothes are all wrong too.”

“Point taken.” I added another ten. “I was never here.”

“I never laid eyes on you even if you were.” She turned and strode back in.

So now I knew. The Rileys were dead. Muriel could not have killed them.

So who was her accomplice?

*   *   *

OKAY, WHAT HAPPENED
next was wrong. I was desperate. The entire situation with Muriel and Vera was out of control. I needed to talk with Uncle Kev. As I was persona non grata, that meant I had to do something—maybe a bit underhanded.

I was still determined to be the only person in my family to go straight, um, ish. Of course, I’d be happy if any of my relatives decided to join me in the world of solid citizens. But I wasn’t planning thievery. Just a little light break-and-enter. The law might not see it my way, but I believed it was necessary and for a good cause.

I located my lock picks. They’d been a Sweet Sixteen gift from Uncle Mick and Uncle Lucky. I keep them with me.

I already had on the all-black outfit, including black wig. The watch cap and even my old black hiking boots would be nicely invisible. The temperature had been dropping in that end-of-November way, so I decided on thermal underwear first. Mine were black, naturally, and I added alpaca socks that were also black but worth their weight in gold. It wasn’t much good to be invisible if I got hypothermia. I wasn’t sure if I should worry about my white Irish face, but I chose not to put any shoe polish on it. A balaclava would have been perfect. Of all the houses in the world, you’d think this one would have a closet full of balaclavas. But I couldn’t find one.

A girl’s got to think about her complexion. Instead, I dodged the cats and found a long black scarf in Uncle Lucky’s closet. I stuck it in my backpack and would wrap it around my face when the time was right. I’d look like a demented ninja, when I got where I was going, but so what.

I felt uneasy, especially as the last time I staged a break-in, I’d come face to face with a police uniform. Not a happy moment for either of us.

However, I didn’t think this outing would end that way. I called Uncle Kev to let him know to expect me and to keep an eye out. I left a note for Uncle Mick (wherever he was) to say that I was taking the Civic. The Civic was unremarkable and looked just like hundreds of other cars. I didn’t want to take the Ford Focus or the Accord in case someone recognized them after all my snooping. Needless to say, the Civic’s license plate was somewhat obscured by a selective layer of “dust.”

I put on a brilliant yellow jacket with a hood to go to the garage and for my drive. I was extremely noticeable and that was the plan. A few miles out of town, I turned down a bumpy road on the property that bordered Vera’s. The road led to an old farmhouse I knew was unoccupied. I angled the Civic into the bushes, ditched the bright yellow jacket in the passenger seat and began the trudge across the farmer’s field. I was glad I’d worn the hiking boots as the furrows and ruts in the earth were frozen. My ankles thanked me, at least until I twisted my left one on a particularly vicious rut. I limped the rest of the way most inelegantly.

It was an eerie walk and the hulking presence of a thresher parked nearby didn’t help much. I felt like I was being observed by a giant insect.

The moon was in its third phase, not as helpful as a full moon would have been, but enough to see by. Of course, seeing clearly is overrated. If you can see, you can be seen. Even so, I was grateful for the lack of cloud cover.

It took about twenty minutes to walk and I congratulated myself on choosing that long underwear and the alpaca socks. I approached Van Alst House from the rear, keeping to the shadows of the evergreen trees on the edge of the property.

Kev knew I was coming and once I reached the house, I did my excellent imitation of an owl hooting to let him know I’d arrived. I only hoped that he wasn’t yakking and drowning out the sound.

The lights were on in the dining room. It was eight o’clock, when everyone must be at the table. I felt a pang for the days of “We dine at eight, Miss Bingham.” If Vera and Muriel were at the table and the signora was pivoting around with one of her platters, then no one was going to see what I did. Kev would be stuffing his face too. It would give him an alibi if one was needed.

The doors were locked, the alarm blinking. Vera might have changed the locks, but I had my picks and Kev had given me his code.

Sure enough, “HANDYMAN” worked like a charm. I let myself in, closed the door behind me and reset the alarm. I hugged the wall of the endless corridor, being careful not to dislodge any portraits of Vera’s constipated ancestors.

It seemed like a year before I reached the library. It had a code too. Again, my luck held. This code had not been changed. I let myself in and locked the door, keying in the code again, in case someone came by and tried the door.

I sniffed the air. I loved everything about Vera’s library, especially the aroma of the old volumes, leather covers and armchairs, real rosewood shelves and beeswax furniture polish. I loved the feel of the Aubusson carpet. I loved the wrought-iron banister of the circular staircase to the mezzanine. I paused to soak it all in, realizing this might be my last visit.

“I’ll be back,” I said out loud to the room. It would have been nice to curl up in the worn leather club chair and leaf through one of Vera’s treasures. But I had a job to do.

A light was out of the question, but I had a flashlight that was barely enough to keep me from crashing into the furniture or tumbling off the circular staircase.

I crept up the stairs without a sound. We were a decent distance from the dining room, down two endless corridors. The attack cats were away, but you never know. On the mezzanine, I looked around, flashing the light. There were, as I feared, gaps in the books on the shelves. Were these the ones that Muriel had told Kev to sell? I scratched my head and stared at where the Nero Wolfe collection used to be. Not a single book remained.

That witch. It must have been pure spite.

Vera’s father’s battered Nero Wolfe books didn’t reside in the library. Vera moved them between her bedroom and the study, reading and rereading the old paperbacks. But Vera’s library collection was relatively recent and, except for the new
Fer-de-Lance
, consisted mostly of attractive mass-market paperbacks in excellent condition. This was the kind of collection that an obsessive collector like Vera might cherish, but it was in no way that valuable. There were many volumes in the library that would fetch thousands of dollars if Vera decided to sell them, but these were not among them. This collection had sentimental value to Vera because Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe books had been a hobby she’d shared with her father. We had worked to upgrade it, but it was far from first-rate.

What reason would anyone have for taking any of them? Even as I asked myself that, I had to admit that there could be reasons unrelated to the value of the book, as I had learned the hard way in a couple of tough spots since I came to work for Vera. I was chewing my lower lip and puzzling over the missing books when I heard a scraping at the door.