Antiques Roadkill Page 18

  “No, Mother, I don’t think so. And it’s my fault. I let us get in over our heads, this time.…”

  “Through there,” Lawson commanded, his gun pointing to another closed door, bearing a timeworn, barely decipherable title—FOREM N’S O FICE.

  I turned the knob with a quavering, old woman’s hand—and a woman about to die is about as old as a woman can be.

  The door swung inward.

  Mother gasped and I just stared, openmouthed.

  The office was a high-tech hideaway of flat-screen computers, security monitors, neon wall maps, and other gizmos worthy of the Bat Cave. This inner chamber was as modern as the building’s exterior was not.

  Though the room was good sized, only one other person was there: a dark-haired woman seated at one of the computers with her back to us.

  Mia swiveled in her chair.

  She rose, strode toward us, stood, hands on hips, brown eyes blazing, nostrils flared, lips a tight, thin line—I hadn’t seen Mia this mad since camp, when I threw her Chatty Cathy doll down the outhouse toilet.

  “What the hell do I have to do,” she snapped, “to keep you two morons from blowing my cover?”

  A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip

  When buying antiques and collectibles via the Internet, use the same kind of caution and scrutiny you use when snagging a pair of Louboutins.

  Chapter Ten

  Do Tell Motel

  We sat at a very low-tech card table in the high-tech chamber—indignant, irritated officers Brian Lawson and Mia Cordona, and chagrined would-be sleuths Brandy and Vivian Borne.

  “You will understand,” Lawson said tightly, “that there isn’t much we can tell you … other than that you’ve stumbled into—and seriously endangered—a major ongoing investigation into drug trafficking in eastern Iowa.”

  “Oops,” I said.

  Mother said, “Involving Clint Carson, you mean?”

  “I mean,” Lawson said, “you’ve stumbled into and endangered an ongoing investigation into drug trafficking in eastern Iowa.”

  “Oh,” Mother said.

  “We are doing you a favor,” Lawson continued, “by talking to you ourselves—you can see by the size and sophistication of this operation that a couple of cops from the Serenity PD aren’t the only law enforcement professionals involved.”

  “You mean,” Mother said, “Chief Cassato and the state police and even the DEA are in on it?”

  “I mean,” Lawson said, “that a couple of cops from the Serenity PD aren’t the only law enforcement professionals involved.”

  Mia’s big eyes were boring into me like dark lasers. Her words were crisp, uncompromising: “I didn’t purposely sully my reputation as an officer of the law so you two chuckle-heads could ruin all the months and months of groundwork I’ve put in.”

  “This is about Juan, isn’t it?” I asked, sheepishly. “About finding the people responsible for your little brother’s death …?”

  She exchanged glances with Lawson, who nodded his permission to Mia.

  “Yes,” Mia said softly. Then the hard edge returned: “But Juan is only part of it. He represents scores of other kids, and adults, too, who throw everything away when they spiral into meth addiction. This is a serious business you’re playing with.”

  My embarrassment gave way and irritation surged forward. “Do you think we don’t know that? We lost our home, and almost our lives! Somebody tried to frame me for Clint Carson’s murder, and I’m supposed to sit back and take that lying down?”

  Mother said, “I don’t think you can sit and lie down simultaneously, dear.”

  “Shut up, Mother. Brian—Officer Lawson—what do you have to say to that?”

  His expression was hard and unapologetic. “Someone may have set you up for the Carson killing, but thanks to your mother here, that didn’t come off. I don’t blame you for that—no one can, or even would. But you two, both of you, have blundered around asking questions and causing trouble and damn near blowing this undercover operation, when you should have sat back, or lain down or whatever the hell, and let us do our jobs.”

  “I … I am sorry,” I said, my irritation back to chagrin.

  Mother chimed in, “Me too,” then added lamely, “But we were just trying to help.”

  Lawson closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them and said, “Your kind of help, Mrs. Borne, we can do without.”

  Mother’s chin went up. “I don’t think it’s necessary to be rude.”

  “Perhaps not,” Lawson said. “Let’s hope it’s also not necessary to charge you with obstruction of justice.”

  And with that, Mother and I both swore to keep Mia’s undercover identity a secret, and not (heart crossed) (fingers, too) do any further meddling.…

  I asked for a moment alone with Mia, and Lawson sighed, flashed an annoyed look at Mia, who rolled her eyes and sighed back at him … but they both allowed it.

  My brown-eyed blue knight escorted my mother toward the door and left Mia and me at the card table.

  “That’s why you told me to stay away from Todd, isn’t it?” I asked. “He’s a suspect or something, maybe somebody dangerous—it’s not because he was your boyfriend. You were concerned about my safety.”

  Expressionless, she nodded.

  “Would you consider telling me one thing? Is there a possibility Clint Carson was having an affair with a respectable local woman?”

  Mia frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s an impression I got, that’s all … from my snooping.”

  “Be more specific.”

  “I can’t. I’d just like to know if there’s any truth in it.”

  Mia considered the question. Then she gave me a curt nod.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “We don’t know. But we have reason to believe he did have such a relationship, yes. It factored into his ability to take advantage of prominent local elderly people—the way he did with your mother, virtually stealing her precious antiques.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  She said nothing.

  “Mia, I value our friendship,” I said. “Or anyway, the friendship we used to have … and I hope maybe someday we can pick back up where we left off.”

  She looked at me coldly. “Is there anything else?”

  “I … I guess not.”

  I got up and moved away from the table.

  Halfway to Lawson and Mother and the door, Mia’s voice rang out in the cement-walled chamber: “Brandy!”

  I turn and froze—after all, she was a cop.

  She walked up slowly, her face as unreadable as a carved wooden mask, and, suddenly, she took me in her arms and squeezed me in a warm embrace.

  I thought I saw a tear trailing down a dark cheek as she whirled away, putting her back to me as fast as she could.

  A smug Lawson escorted a chagrined us into the backseat of the squad car again, then headed toward downtown. He said nothing as Mother and I sat behind the wire barrier, our seat belts buckled, our hands folded in our laps, two scolded children.

  As Lawson turned into the alley behind Carson’s antique store, an ambulance was pulling away, no siren—if the “patient” within was Tanya, as I expected was the case, no siren was necessary. A dark green Buick pulled out after, and I recognized the driver as our county coroner.

  Two other police cars, lights flashing, blocked the immediate area around the rear door of the building, crime-scene tape draped ominously around the periphery.

  Depositing us near our parked car, Lawson opened the door and gave me a blandly contemptuous look as we emerged—and having passed through fear and embarrassment, I was now approaching boiling mad.

  I asked, “Could we have a word, Officer Lawson?”

  “I told you that—”

  “This isn’t about the case. Not really.”

  He let out a bunch of air and nodded. Mother stood out of earshot, giving us a respectful privacy (except I think she was trying to read our lips) as w
e spoke.

  I began: “Was it really necessary to scare us like that? You could have told us right away that we’d intruded into an undercover operation, and needed to brief us else-where—how were we to know you weren’t the killer?”

  “Me?” He blinked in surprise and indignation. “Are you kidding? How was I to know you two weren’t the perps? That you didn’t push that Tanya character down that elevator shaft yourselves?”

  “You were watching us—you saw us discover the body!”

  His eyes got tight. “I’ll tell you what I was watching. The alley. We’ve had this building under surveillance for days now, and’ve logged the names of everybody who’s gone in and out of that back way, picking up their consignment goods. And I saw Tanya help them out with their stuff, in every instance—right up to where you and your mother went in there.”

  Frowning, I said, “And … and you came in after us?”

  “That’s right.”

  I tried to parse that. “So we’re … suspects?”

  He shook his head. “No. You’re right—I saw you discover that body. I know you didn’t do it.”

  “Then who did do it?”

  Now he was the one who seemed embarrassed. “Must’ve been somebody Tanya let in the front way.… We’re a small force. We couldn’t afford two cars and two officers to properly watch that place.”

  I gave him a “poor you” look. “Oh, that must be frustrating—so you took the frustration out on us, scaring the bejesus out of us.”

  His hands went to his hips, heel of one on his holstered gun; his brown eyes were very attractive, even when they were filled with anger. “I saved your silly asses, getting you out of there, fast as I could—how could I be sure the killer wasn’t still in that building, somewhere in the dark? I did you a favor!”

  “Well, next time you ‘save’ me, Officer Lawson—don’t be such a jerk while you’re doing it!”

  We glared at each other.

  Mother strode up, and she’d heard that last part, because it had been shouted—I couldn’t fault her for eavesdropping (in this instance).

  Arms folded grandly over her bosom, she looked down her nose at the officer and said, “My daughter is right—we’re both deserving of better treatment, and more respect—after all, I’m seventy years old.”

  Seventy-four.

  His frustrated face moved from me to Mother and back again. “All right, all right … maybe I was a little heavy-handed about it, but neither of you seems to grasp the seriousness of this.… Three people are now dead as a consequence of this situation, and—”

  “Three?” I said. Now my eyes tightened. “Then that means my hospital roommate was murdered—and I was the intended victim.”

  “Yes,” he said, “and yes, some sicko injected cleaning fluid into Mrs. Taylor’s IV.”

  Mother’s mouth dropped open like a trapdoor. “Oh … oh my.…”

  I, of course, was not surprised.

  Lawson’s face softened; he touched my sleeve, tentatively. “Please—accept my apology, cut me a little slack, and will you please let us do our job? Stay out of mischief. Keep out of harm’s way. Go home.”

  Which we did.

  The latter, anyway.

  Before long Mother and I were sitting at the kitchen table at Peg’s, coffee cups in hand. As Mother poured me another round, she said cheerfully, “Well, look at it this way, Brandy—at least Mia isn’t a drug dealer!”

  “I just hope nothing we’ve done has put her into any danger.”

  Mother frowned at me thoughtfully. “Why did you want to talk to her without me around?”

  I couldn’t tell her that I was hoping to find out whether her daughter—my sister, and under whose roof we were residing at the moment—had been having an affair with Clint Carson. Of course I ruled Peg out as a murder suspect—she would hardly have tried to murder us! But what Ashley had told me about the woman at that motel, who’d argued with Carson and gone off in a vehicle like Peggy Sue’s, well … that might put my sister in the middle of this mess.

  And if that were the case, Peggy Sue could be in as much danger as the rest of us.

  If only I felt comfortable enough with my sister to ask her!

  But I shared none of these thoughts with Mother.

  And when she asked again, “Why didn’t you want me to hear what you two girls were talking about?”

  “It wasn’t that,” I lied. “I just thought, since we were old friends, that Mia might open up a little, one on one.”

  “But she didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “She gave you a hug.”

  “That’s all she gave me, Mother.”

  Mother studied me, and I wondered for a moment if she suspected I wasn’t being wholly forthcoming. But she didn’t ask anything else, merely excusing herself to go take a nap—she had Opal rehearsal tonight.

  I was staring into about half a cup of coffee when Peggy Sue wandered into the kitchen.

  “Can I fix you something to eat?” she asked me. “We’re not having anything here tonight, I’m afraid—Bob and I have a dinner dance at the country club.”

  “I can take care of myself, thanks. Sis … would you sit down for a minute? And talk?”

  This seemed to surprise her, understandably.

  “Let me get myself some coffee first,” she said, and did.

  Then she was seated across from me, sipping her cup, waiting for me to take the lead.

  “Sis … I don’t mean to be out of line, but—is everything cool with you and Bob?”

  Her smile had a frown in it. “What brought that on?”

  “Please don’t ask. Just … this isn’t easy for me. Please be honest with me. I really don’t mean to pry.”

  Her blue eyes flashed. “Well, what else would you call it? Bob and I are fine. I love him, he loves me, and I think he loves me no less even though I’ve invited my strange family members to live with us indefinitely, which makes him quite a guy, wouldn’t you say?”

  I wasn’t sure how much sarcasm was loaded in there; I never am with Peg.

  “Did you know Clint Carson?”

  She laughed. “What, am I a suspect now? Aren’t you taking this Nancy Drew thing just a little too far?”

  If I never heard the words “Nancy Drew” again, it would be too soon.…

  I shrugged. “I just wondered if you knew him. I mean, antiques aren’t your thing, really.”

  “No. I like new things. But I saw him that day at the Red Hat luncheon, of course.”

  “Had you ever gone into his shop?”

  “Brandy! What is that about?”

  “Why is that such a terrible question? He was murdered, and somebody tried to frame your own sister for it! And said sister has now been the subject of two attempted murders growing out of—”

  “Well, I want to strangle you right now. Does that count?”

  I sighed. Pushed the coffee cup aside. “Fine. Never mind.”

  I got up and was halfway out when Peggy Sue said, “I knew him a little. He … he hit on me when I was in the shop.”

  Swiveling to her, I said, “Really?”

  She touched her shellacked hair. “Don’t sound so surprised. A few men on the planet might still find your ancient sister attractive.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I would buy collectible trinkets in there, from time to time, for Mother. And now and then for you. Remember that autographed David Cassidy LP I sent you for your birthday last year?”

  “Yes … I forgot about that.”

  Her smile was frosty. “I’m glad it meant so much to you. Well, I bought it at Carson’s shop. And that, Brandy, is the extent of it. After he got a little too … familiar … I never went in there again.”

  “Thanks, Sis.”

  “Why? Why are you asking?”

  “Nothing. Just a loose end, a thread.”

  Her expression took on seemingly genuine concern. “Well, careful. You know what happens to sweaters when yo
u start pulling on loose threads.”

  “Nothing good.”

  “Nothing good,” she affirmed, and returned her attention to her cup of coffee.

  Later that evening, Peggy Sue and Bob drove Mother to her play practice on their way to the Serenity Country Club. Ashley was, typically, out with friends.

  I played with Sushi for a while, then wandered around the house, taking an inventory of furniture that would never gain value as antiques, no matter how many hundreds of years passed. As dusk set in, the restlessness became unbearable, and I went out to my car, leaving Sushi penned up and with water (Peggy Sue didn’t want her to have the run of the house, and I couldn’t blame her, even though Soosh already had the Hastings layout down pat).

  After driving around the streets for a while, I wound up in Weed Park—I think I mentioned that the land had been donated to the city by a family named Weed. And as long as there was still a Weed rooted in Serenity, the city didn’t dare change the park’s name to something more inviting.

  The park had once been home to a small but wonderful zoo. There was an elephant named Candy, and an assortment of ill-mannered monkeys, including a tattered old gorilla that looked like a person wearing a cheap costume in an Abbott and Costello movie. The orangutans were especially nasty; you couldn’t stand too close because they could spit a country mile, and make the most obscene gestures. I’m sure the endless parade of teasing kids made them that way.

  Most memorable at the zoo, however, was the vile-smelling log cabin snake house, home to a variety of slithering reptiles, which were truly frightening, not to say gross—watching the python eat his mouse dinner was enough to put you off your own meals for a week—and the rattlesnakes would strike at your hand on the glass, which was scarier than a Freddy movie.

  As a kid, I felt sorry for the caged creatures … and apparently I wasn’t the only one.

  One sultry summer night someone released all the animals, snakes included, and major panic issued. The seemingly docile elephant, in a mad dash for freedom, overturned parked cars, knocked down phone lines, and trampled anything else in its path. The monkeys, taking no interest in making a break for the state line, ran roughshod over the downtown, smashing windows, scattering trash, swinging from the lampposts, terrorizing the riverside apartment dwellers.