Murder on Cape Cod Page 14

  Today was apparently one of her busy days. She didn’t pick up her phone, so I left a message asking if she could possibly work for me again this morning, as soon as possible, and that of course I’d pay her. Double if she wanted. I finished the message and clicked off. I knew she didn’t need the money. My Abo, Pa’s dad, had left his wife well provided for, plus she had an annuity from some deceased cousin and her pension from being a public school teacher for forty years. She was set financially, not that she flaunted it.

  I’d just have to manage until the afternoon. I reread the schedule that I’d checked yesterday, since a few other events had shoved it out of mind. I gulped. A major tune-up, five reserved rentals, and a tandem repair, plus I always had lots of walk-ins. One thing at a time, I told myself. One thing at a time. And, I reminded myself, I was living my dream. I was a successful solo businesswoman in the most beautiful place on Earth, with family nearby and a man who loved me. So what if things got a little hectic at work now and then?

  The five rentals bundled through the door about thirty seconds later. Two high-energy athletic mothers and three sullen sleepy children made up the group. They turned out to be homeschoolers from Rhode Island up for a weekend of enforced history lessons while exercising. My words, not the moms’. I tried to talk up how fun it was to bike the trails with no cars around. The kids did not look convinced. Finally, after I fitted them all with maps, helmets, and bikes of the right sizes, I watched the quintet pedal away.

  The store phone rang. “Mac’s Bikes, Mac speaking. How can I help you?” I wrinkled my nose as I listened. A family staying all the way down in Woods Hole wanted drop-off.

  “I’m sorry, but bike delivery is not a service we offer.” I would need a store van to drop off and pick up bikes, and a paid employee to drive it. So far I hadn’t laid out the money for either.

  The customer let me know quite clearly how unhappy she was with me and where she planned to take her business instead. I hung up and pondered changing my business model. I was doing all right the way things were now. I could pay all my bills, including payroll, and deposit a paycheck for myself every month, too. It wasn’t a big one, but was enough for my personal expenses. Buying a van and figuring out if I was going to drive it or hire another person to do the job should be in my future. If I wanted to serve tourists who weren’t staying within walking distance of the shop, that is. I wasn’t going to decide right now, though. I’d see how things went this season.

  The scheduled tandem repair appeared next. The riders were tandem, too. Identical twin men, by the looks of it, in matching blue shorts, green shirts, and greased-over boyish haircuts despite them being on the far side of fifty.

  As I was filling out the top part of their repair slip, one of the two leaned both elbows on the counter. “Heard you found the murder victim on the bikeway a couple of days ago. What was that like?” His dark eyebrows, a perfect reflection of his brother’s, pulled together in the middle and his gaze unsettled me with its intensity.

  I pulled back. What a thing to ask. “It was sad and upsetting, that’s how it was. It still is.” What I wanted to do was rant, “What did you think it was like?!” But I didn’t, in the interest of keeping my shop open and in the black. The customer was always right, no matter how gross, bizarre, or unattractive they were. These two were going for the trifecta. But the bottom line was that I would take customers’ money and be polite to them as long as they didn’t harm themselves, anyone else, or the rental equipment.

  “We write horror novels, so it’s a research question,” Twin Two chimed in, beady eyes bright. “We’re always trying to deepen our characters’ reactions.”

  “Make them real.” Twin One’s voice spoke with more drama than a voice-over artist’s in a movie trailer.

  “Show how death cuts into their emotional core.” Twin Two nodded.

  “How lovely for you,” I said. My mouth curved into a faint smile but the rest of my face stayed in place. How could I get rid of these guys?

  “Could you tell if his death was peaceful or anguished?” Twin Two pressed.

  “Were you afraid?” Twin One leaned closer. “It was dark and foggy, wasn’t it?”

  Ick. Now I had ghouls for customers. I kept the fake smile on, leaning back as far as I could. “Now, what seems to be wrong with the tandem?” I should probably text Stephen King and warn him about the competition.

  The Adams brothers—their real name—finally left after explaining in the most disjointed way why they thought their shared steel steed was making funny noises. I heaved a sigh of relief deserving of a Presidential Medal of Honor with Distinction. People like them were the down side of serving the public. Luckily, they were the exception rather than the rule.

  But by nine thirty I was still by myself. And swamped. Slammed. Sunk. How had a man’s murder so messed up my life? Before this week I’d loved my job. The store ran smoothly with Derrick’s help, and I’d thought hiring Orlean would let me feel less harried about getting everything done. Instead, here I was flying solo and more harried than ever. Well, Derrick would be back soon, and surely Orlean’s absence was short-term.

  Four white-haired couples were perusing their rental options with much discussion. A preschooler was throwing a tantrum outside where his father had taken him after I’d asked him to please keep his child from climbing on any of our display bikes, yes, even the adult tricycle. And the major tune-up job had turned out to be a major pain in the you-know-where, but I’d finished it and its very nice owner had paid and left a few minutes ago.

  I perked up when Norland Gifford wandered in. He was not wheeling a broken bike, which was already a plus. I hailed him from the repair bench.

  “I’m back here.” I gave a wave. “But I should be out front, and over on the rental side, too. Problem is I’m alone in the shop this morning. Personnel problems. What can I do for you, Chief?”

  He chuckled. “No need for that title any longer, thank the good Lord. No, I was passing by and thought I’d drop in, see . . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced from side to side. He came closer. “To see if you learned anything useful about, you know, our friend’s demise.”

  “I’m not sure if I have or not.” I kept my voice low, too.

  The group considering rentals came toward us. “We’ve decided. Can you help us now?” one of the men asked, his silver hair perfectly combed, his sportswear perfectly coordinated with his wife’s.

  “Sorry, Norland.” I blew out a breath. “Can you wait a couple of minutes?”

  “Of course. Better yet, I can shadow you. Maybe I can fill in for an hour or two. Give you a hand.”

  He was a friend sent from heaven, it looked like. I blew him a kiss. And shadow me, he did. He watched how I helped these well-heeled seniors select the right size of bicycles and choose helmets. They were easy, pleasant, cooperative people, the best kind of customers. Norland observed the paper work we filled out. Saw where I kept all the supplies. By the time the helmeted seniors left with locks, maps, and their copies of signed waivers, Norland was a fully trained employee.

  “You really want to do this?” I asked. “I mean, why, when you just retired from a job?”

  He laughed, an infectious throaty sound. “Mac, this is about as far from police work as you can get. I have to get my grandkids off the bus at two thirty, but until then, I make my own schedule. That’s the best thing about retirement. Nobody tells me where to go or what to do. I’m my own boss and I’m loving it.” His clothes looked like he was his own boss, too. His well-worn striped cotton shirt included a frayed collar and looked like an old friend, as did faded blue jeans and sneakers, one laced with hot pink and the other with fluorescent green.

  He saw me checking out the shoelaces and smiled. “My granddaughter’s handiwork.”

  “I love it. And you’re hired.” I held out my hand for a good firm handshake.

  “It seems like a pretty straightforward job,” Norland said. “But I thought your brother was handling
the rental and retail business for you?”

  “He is. He’s been taking a couple of personal days. He’ll be in this afternoon.” I hoped. I beckoned for the former chief to follow me. “Know anything about bike repair?” During the rental transaction, the father and wailing child had taken themselves elsewhere, to my immense relief.

  “Not a thing.”

  I resumed my work. Norland folded his arms and leaned against the only bare stretch of wall.

  “I got the group text,” he said, measuring his words.

  Uh-oh. I glanced at him. “You know we only want to help Detective Haskins. Really, none of us is interested in getting into trouble or going all maverick on him. Nobody’s going to go off into a dark cellar with a murderer at large or do some kind of vigilante stunt.”

  He laughed, this time a soft gentle sound that reminded me of a low engine rumble. “Mac, I’m not here to chastise you or any of the group. I’ve been thinking about how I could help.”

  “Really? That’s awesome.” I straightened and bent the crick in my back the other way.

  “I mean, I do have a little expertise to lend. A few years of experience up and down Cod’s Cape.” Now his smile was wistful. “Maybe I do miss the work. But not enough to go back to a full-time position.”

  “Would they take you on as a consultant?”

  “Maybe. But what if I was hot on the trail of a killer? Could I still grab my coat at two o’clock and tell them so long, I have a date with a school bus?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I know the way departments work.” He fixed his kindly gaze on me. “An amateur effort, though? That’s a different story entirely.”

  * * *

  “Let’s talk while I work.” I focused on the tune-up while the shop was quiet. Finally I could do the straightforward work I was good at instead of all this disorderly people stuff I couldn’t control.

  “I particularly was interested in what you said in the text about this guy, Billy Crump.” Norland folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “He’s a PI, you said.”

  “Right. Flo and I looked him up in her secret librarian databases yesterday.”

  Norland laughed at that.

  “Well, not secret to other librarians, obviously. But not commonly available to regular people like me.”

  “I know what you mean. Police have their own secret databases, too, or maybe they’re the same as Florence’s. I’d have to check.”

  “Anyway, we learned that Billy Crump is a German national.” I filled him in on the German name and the rest of what we’d discovered. “I didn’t talk to him when he approached me because I didn’t know him from anybody.”

  “It might not hurt for me to give him a call, see what else he knows.”

  “Could you?” I looked at him, eyes wide.

  “Of course.”

  “Part of the reason I didn’t want to deal with him was because he said he was hired to look into the death by an interested party, but he refused to tell me who’d employed him.”

  “Hmm. SOP, I’d say.” Norland pursed his lips.

  “SOP?”

  “Standard operating procedure.”

  “Oh.” I thought for a second. “Man, it feels like a week ago when he stopped by here. But I guess it was only yesterday.”

  Norland fell silent. I looked up from my work to see him gazing at me.

  He cleared his throat before speaking. “A lot happened yesterday, didn’t it? No wonder it seems like a week.”

  Crap. He knew about Derrick. “You mean with my brother?”

  Once again he kept his voice gentle. “Yes. I don’t mean to pry, but I heard it from the old boys’ network. Old police boys, that is.”

  I sighed. “So you know Haskins came by Tim’s and questioned Derrick. And you must know that earlier yesterday I found my brother totally drunk and watched him keel over into a rock, resulting in a scalp injury and possible concussion. And that we took him to the hospital to get stitched up.” I blurted the words to get them over with.

  He nodded.

  “And you also know about his past conviction, his prison time?” I asked.

  Norland nodded again, then held up both hands. “I’m not here to accuse him of anything. Just so you know.”

  I blinked at him. Finally I spoke. “Okay. I hear you. But you have to know this.” I punctuated my words with pointing at him. “I do not think Derrick had anything to do with Jake’s murder. I believe my brother when he says he came across Jake dead on the path and panicked, because of their shared past.”

  “That part I didn’t know. He found the body and didn’t report it?”

  I spread my hands. “I think he was just really afraid. He has a daughter, and Jake was blackmailing him.”

  “I hear you. And I want to work with you on this,” he said. “I’ve heard of this Crump character. Or Krumpf, as the case may be.”

  I tilted my head. Why hadn’t he said so a few minutes earlier when we’d first talked about him? As if he’d heard my thoughts, Norland laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I tightened a loose nut and spun the front wheel.

  “I didn’t mention it when you brought up Crump because I wanted to see where you were going with the story. I ran into Billy years ago. He wasn’t so aboveboard then. Has a couple shady dealings in his past. As I said, I’ll give him a call. You have his current number?”

  I nodded. “It’s in my phone. “What makes you think he’ll tell you who he’s investigating?”

  “Let’s just say I was the one who convinced him to go straight, get his PI license, and live like an honest man.”

  I adjusted the wheel a little more and spun it again. “Can you tell me what his shady business was?”

  “No. It happened long ago, and it’s between him and me. But it’ll give me a little, shall we say, leverage with him.”

  * * *

  Abo Reba strode—as much as really short legs can stride—in the front door of the shop at a few minutes past eleven. I waved at her from the repair area. Norland had been busy for an hour with rental and retail customers, and I’d gotten in a couple of new repair jobs, too. The shop was only now quiet and empty of customers again.

  “I’m here to woman the desk again,” she announced. “Hey, Norland. Mac’s got you working here now, does she? Retirement too boring for you?” She plopped her bag down behind the rental counter and slid off her hat.

  “Thought I’d help out,” Norland said. “But as you well know, Reba, retirement’s not a bit boring.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I was pulling your leg. So, Mac, what’s going on? Do you need me?” Abo Reba strolled toward my half of the shop.

  A man holding a little boy’s hand walked in and started speaking with Norland about renting bikes. I wiped the grease off my hands with a rag and waited for my grandmother to come closer before I spoke.

  “You heard the news?” I murmured.

  She lowered her voice to match mine. “Joseph told me all about your brother.” She shook her head in a brisk move. “Sounds like you found him just in time.”

  “I guess I did.” I must have looked worried, because she reached up a hand gnarled from arthritis and stroked my cheek.

  “Now, honey. He’s going to be fine. That was only a momentary hiccup for him. You listen to your Abo. Life is full of little glitches like that. We get through them, with the help of family and friends, and just keep on keeping on. Do you think I got this old without having a few setbacks?”

  I smiled at her wisdom. “I don’t suppose you did, no.” I wasn’t sure if being a person of interest in a murder was a little glitch or a major threat in Derrick’s life. Following her advice, I resolved to work on getting through the situation and keep on going. Worrying never helped anybody.

  She tapped the workbench. “So will Derrick be in today or not?”

  “He said he would, after lunch. I don’t know how long Norland can stay.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing. I cleared a few hour
s in my schedule.” She grinned. “It wasn’t easy. I had to put off a lunch with the president of the Garden Club.”

  “Isn’t she the one who’s always trying to make you do work you have no interest in?”

  “The very same. Avoiding a meeting with her wasn’t much of a hardship, as you can imagine. I told her family comes first. And it does.”

  “Well, once again I appreciate your help. As you can see, Orlean didn’t make it in today.”

  “What’s going on with that girl?” Abo Reba narrowed her eyes.

  “Abo, she’s over forty! Hardly a girl.”

  She grinned. “When you’re eighty, every female’s a girl.”

  “Anyway, I don’t know what’s going on with her. She texted me that she’s sick. I can’t argue with that, but I wonder if it’s more her ex-husband she’s sick from than her health. He seems to be giving her problems. I didn’t want to pry, but I really need her in the shop.”

  “Leave it to me. Maybe I can find out.”

  “Abo Ree, do you still have that PI’s card?”

  She nodded and fished it out of her bag. “Why? You decided to talk to him, after all?”

  “Can you give it to Norland? He says he knows Crump. He’ll give the guy a call.” I hadn’t had a minute to find the number on my cell.

  A group of seven fresh-cheeked young adults entered. “Looks like I’m on.” Abo Reba hurried toward the rental side.

  An hour later, after Norland had left with Crump’s number entered into his phone, my mom swept through the back door of the shop.

  “Hi, honey,” she called out.

  At least I was pretty sure it was my mom. I couldn’t see her, because my head was down, peering at my greasy hands and this morning’s latest problem, a thoroughly messed-up derailleur. My nose was full of the sweet smell of metal, oil, and rubber, my favorite scents in the universe. But what in the world had the guy who’d dropped off the bike done to cause this kind of screwed-up-ness? The highly useful term was one I’d learned from the Voc-Tech teacher in high school, the man I’d first learned bike repair from.