CHAPTER THREE

Once we’d each given a statement to the police, Phyllis tramped off to her course, Jock huddled in a group with the cops, and Max, Jimmy, and I stood there like stooges, not sure what to do next.

Since Jock had picked up Max this morning, and Phyllis had driven Jimmy in to get a head start on his new look, I suggested the three of us hop into my car and head to Jimmy’s place. Wasn’t that what I’d proposed to Romero?

We swung out of the restaurant’s parking lot, Ziggy’s escape forefront in my mind. Max and Jimmy prattled on about the murder and what the consequences would be for the Wee Irish Dude. Meanwhile, I steered onto Montgomery on the alert as advised by Romero. I looked both ways at every turn and constantly checked my rearview mirror in case someone was following me.

“Boy, dudette.” Jimmy leaned forward in the backseat, bobbing his head from Max to me. “I’ve ridden in VWs before, but your yellow Bug is what a sorry dude like me needs to cheer him up.”

“It really is Valentine, isn’t it?” Max egged Jimmy on.

“And then some, dude.” Jimmy nodded out the window. “The sun’s even coming out. It must like Daisy Bug, too.”

I cut Max a shrewd look at his shallow attempt to brighten the Skink’s mood, then veered onto a cul-de-sac and asked Jimmy which house was his.

He pointed over my shoulder to the charming blue and yellow Cape Cod two-story sitting at the far end of the circle, looking like something out of Better Homes and Gardens. “Good ol’ Aunt Neila,” Jimmy said. “She could really do up a place right.”

Max’s eyes were big like saucers. “You’re not kidding. You inherited this, too?”

“Like, did I ever. Moved in a few weeks ago.”

Max nodded. “You going to live here by yourself?”

Jimmy shrugged, sadness setting in once again. “I was going to ask Dooley to move in with me. He had his own place, but it was in a rundown apartment building. And I thought it’d be kinda cool if we shared the house.”

We moseyed through the front door, and it felt like good ol’ Aunt Neila was still here. Everything looked so cheerful, from the delicate princess drapes to the tasteful knick-knacks. I almost expected to see a basket of fresh muffins on the kitchen counter.

“Hey, look!” Max pointed to an open pantry next to the kitchen. “A bread machine. Don’t you love those things?”

Jimmy wandered over to it. “This was Dooley’s. He brought a few things over that he didn’t want to keep at his apartment. Even made us a few loaves. He was an expert at bread-making.”

While Max was drooling over the machine, I scanned the place. “Did Dooley bring anything else over?”

“Sure, dudette. I’ll show you the room I was going to set up for him.” He led me down a hall into a neat, white-walled bedroom with blue accents and billowy lighthouse-patterned curtains. There was a TV and Polaroid camera sitting on a table, a bed opposite the table, and several boxes on the floor piled with cookbooks and loose papers.

“Like, what are you looking for?” Jimmy wanted to know.

I studied the room. “I’m not sure. Something that may explain what happened to Dooley.”

“Far out, dudette! You’re taking the case? You’ll unearth who murdered Dooley?”

“Let’s not jump the gun…so to speak. I’m merely…curious.”

“Yeah, like I know what that means.” Jimmy snorted. “First, you step your sexy high heels in the murder scene, all innocent-like, and then whammo!” He clapped his hands in the air, making me flinch. “Valentine Beaumont, super sleuth to the rescue.”

Jimmy should’ve majored in drama. “Let’s see how it goes, okay?” I knelt in front of the boxes on the floor.

“Ten four.” He trotted to the door. “Like, righteous.”

I rubbed my chin, mulling things over, then raised my eyes to Jimmy’s back. “You said you were going to ask Dooley to move in, right?”

He turned from the door. “That’s right.”

“Then if you hadn’t asked him yet, and if he had an apartment, why was he hauling things here?”

“Good question.” He scratched his head, pondering this. “I wish I had a good answer. All he said was some stuff was important to him, and he didn’t trust the rats at his place not to go through anything.”

I looked back down at the boxes, thinking out loud. “Or maybe he didn’t trust that someone wouldn’t go through his things.”

His eyes widened as if he hadn’t considered this. “Yeah. Like, maybe he was onto whoever killed him.” His eyes bugged out even more. “Maybe he knew who it was all along.”

“It’s possible.” I gestured at the Polaroid. “Whose camera?”

“Also Dooley’s. Since he got out of prison, he liked snapping pictures. Sort of a hobby. And Polaroids are super-popular again. We had one when I was a kid, but it was nothing like these new ones.” He stared at the camera. “Dooley never let me see any photos, though. He was kinda private that way.” He blinked down, his black lashes brushing his cheeks, his bushy brows giving a sad wiggle. “I wonder what he would’ve thought of my new look.”

My heart went out to Jimmy, and I offered an encouraging smile. “I’m sure he would’ve thought it was…righteous.”

“Yeah. Probs.” He faltered at the doorframe, his head low. “I really appreciate this, dudette. Your hair’s kinda witchy today, and your eye looks tortured, but hey, I won’t hold that against you. If anyone can find Dooley’s killer, you can.”

I was touched by his backward vote of confidence. I just wished I felt the same way.

* * *

Jimmy stumbled back to the kitchen where Max was likely fawning over gadgets, and I went to work rummaging through the boxes on the bedroom floor.

Nothing much of anything caught my tortured eye or seemed significant. Cookbooks galore. Old bills. Receipts. Court documents. All stuff from four, five years ago.

I raked a snarled clump of hair behind my ear, leaned my elbow on one of the boxes, and raised a brow at the closet. Hmm. Was there anything in there that belonged to Dooley? Wouldn’t hurt to have a look inside.

I worked the kinks out of my legs and ambled over to the closet. Inside, I found a hoodie and a fairly new leather jacket. Probably didn’t want the rats to get at these either.

I did a quick search through the hoodie and found a pack of gum, a crumpled tissue, and a bit of loose change. Nothing noteworthy. I pushed it aside and felt around in the leather jacket’s outer pockets. Nothing remarkable there either. I squeezed the fabric above the left pocket and felt something like a folded paper, or tickets, or maybe a wad of bills.

I took the jacket off the hanger, sat on the bed, and groped for an inner pocket. Aha. I undid the zipper and tugged out a white envelope bent in half. Inside the envelope was a small stack of 2” x 3” photos. I glanced at the Polaroid on the table, then back at the pictures, taking a moment to register what I was seeing.

The pictures were of me. All of them. A shot of me getting out of my car at the hospital where I played Mon Sac Est Ton Sac, a favorite made-up game with the sick kids. Another of me locking the back door after work. In the next shot, I was entering Friar Tuck’s Donuts beside the salon.

My breath caught in my throat, and I tried not to shake, but I was trembling so hard the photos slipped through my fingers and fell onto the shiny hardwood floor.

I slid down amidst the pictures and took a deep breath, pulling myself together. I sorted through the stack, squinting closely at the first photo. I remembered that day at the hospital. In fact, it was last Monday when the kids giggled their time away, using the beauty items in my bag to make me beautiful, or “more bootiful” as one child had put it.

I stared at the photo of me getting out of my car, wearing the multi-colored sweater I’d bought at that new eclectic boutique in Burlington, Rueland’s neighboring town. Okay. Not one of my smarter purchases.

I went through the pictures and could recall almost each place where they’d been taken and when. One about three and a half weeks ago after work when Max and I had treated ourselves to a couple of greasy fried-chicken dinners at Lick-a-Chick. Another of me playing Catwoman, digging around late one night outside Rueland Retirement. Wait. That was back in September during a previous murder case.

And what about this one? Taken last month after that case had ended. Romero and I had been testing the dating waters, and I was in a romantic stupor after we’d just exited the retirement home.

I kept flipping. Whoa. This one was only a few days ago. Me throwing a gutter-ball at Lucky Lanes. Likely before Romero had stepped in to demonstrate how it was done. The bowling alley was busy that night, and it’d never occurred to me I was being watched. But Dooley must’ve been in the back somewhere to take this shot.

A sharp prickle darted up my spine, and I fought to stay calm. Dooley had been photographing me for at least two months. I backtracked to Romero saying Dooley had been out of prison a few months now. But why had he begun stalking me? Did this have something to do with his incarceration?

According to Jimmy, Dooley had come back from New York to cook at the restaurant. So where did I enter the picture? Could Dooley have been the one who’d delivered the dildo, last night yet? Sounded like something a stalker might do. And who was the woman who’d called the restaurant and upset Dooley?

I briefly wondered if any of this was connected to Ziggy. But he’d been doing time at Rivers View, which was in Norfolt. And Dooley had been in New York. Two different states and miles apart. Plus, Ziggy’s handprints were all over that dildo. I leaned against the bed, stumped.

I put the photos back in the envelope and gave a slight shiver. Like it or not, the pictures tied me to Dooley and put me smack in the middle of a murder investigation. I had to give these to Romero. Maybe he’d shed light on the puzzle.

Max and Jimmy’s voices moved up the hall toward me. Before they even made it through the doorway, Max hoisted up the bread machine.

“Jimmy’s giving me Dooley’s bread maker. After all, Dooley’s not going to need it anymore.”

I blinked wide-eyed at Max at his insensitive comment.

“What!” He looked apologetically from me to Jimmy. “Oops, I mean Dooley won’t be baking bread where he’s going. Although it should be warm enough.”

Oh Lord.

Thankfully, Jimmy was so easygoing he didn’t take offense.

Max lowered the bread machine and for the first time actually looked at me on the floor with Dooley’s leather jacket on my lap and the envelope full of pictures in my hand.

“What are you doing sprawled down there? Some new form of yoga?”

I got to my feet, flung the jacket on the bed, and showed them the photos.

“What are pictures of you doing in Dooley’s jacket?” Jimmy asked. “Like, that’s plain creepy.”

“Tell me about it.” Another shiver tore through my body.

“It’s more than creepy. It’s criminal.” Max rested the machine on his hip and snatched a photo from my hand. “I told you he wouldn’t be baking where he was going.” He examined the picture closely. “Hey! This one’s of you and me that day we went to Lick-a-Chick.”

He gaped back up at me. “Why am I in the photo?” He dumped the bread maker on the bed and scoured through the rest of the shots. “Whew. Thank goodness that’s the only one.”

“Yes, thank goodness,” I said. “Wouldn’t want your life to be in danger, after all.”

“Lovey,” Max retorted, “you may be used to this Criminal Minds stuff, but some of us don’t live life on the edge.” He draped an arm around Jimmy’s spindly shoulder. “Some of us are more delicate.”

I glared at him. “Start using that bread machine you just inherited, and you’re going to lose that delicate look of yours.”

Max withdrew his arm from around Jimmy’s shoulder and stuck out his lip in a pout.

“Jimmy,” I said, my voice softening, “the police need to see these. Are you okay with me passing them on?”

“Whatever you think is best, dudette. Like, I trust you.”

Max lugged the bread machine off the bed, then gave me a sour look. If a word bubble had been suspended over his head, it would’ve said Killjoy. He stared down at himself like he was weighing the prospects of what daily homemade bread would do to him.

Without ceremony, he handed the machine to Jimmy. “I guess I’ll be better off without this.”

“Hey, dude,” Jimmy said, nodding, “you know where it is if you change your mind.”

Max thanked him, gave me a haughty look, and sailed out of the room.