Chapter 12
Arty and Doug drove me back to the bar, and our return trip was as silent as the first one. Arty muttered a “Sorry, Mack,” as they pulled up in front of the bar.
“Me too,” I said. “I had hoped we might finally have a resolution to this thing.”
“We’ll keep at it,” Doug said. “Have faith.”
His words struck a chord with me. It was a similar expression uttered by an Episcopalian minister, and a bit of intuition, that had led to the solving of the last case, albeit a little too late. As I dragged myself and my crutches from the car and made my way back into the bar, I felt defeated and exhausted. I had no faith in my ability to figure this thing out, and I prayed—while I’m not a religious person per se, I’m not above hedging my bets—that an answer would come soon.
Back inside, I headed up to the Capone Club room. Navigating the steps with my crutches made me feel even more tired than I had before, and I cursed myself for not putting in an elevator when I did the new construction. By the time I got upstairs, I knew I would be of little use to anyone for the rest of the night. The group greeted me with expectant looks and enthusiasm, no doubt hoping I’d be delivering news of a break in Gary’s case. Cora, Joe, Frank, and Mal knew just how involved that case was, but the others simply thought Gary’s death had been a bad bit of luck. At least I thought they did.
“Any news?” Cora asked as I settled into a chair next to Mal. He laid a hand on my arm and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. His touch was reassuring.
“I’m afraid not,” I told them. “They had a suspect who they thought might have had a connection to the bar or to Gary, but I didn’t recognize him at all.”
“Just because he hasn’t been in the bar doesn’t mean he didn’t do it,” Carter said.
“I suppose,” I said with a shrug. “But I don’t think they have any other connections between this man and Gary. Sorry, guys, but it looks like it’s a no go.”
The disappointment on their faces made me want to cry. For the hundredth time, I debated telling them all the truth about the case, letting them know that their lives might be in danger. Was I doing the right thing by keeping it to myself? Every time I considered revealing all, I imagined what the group would do. They’d tackle the case with everything they had, and I feared that would only escalate the letter writer’s actions. But didn’t they have a right to know? I looked over at Clay Sanders and wondered what he would do with the information if he knew about it. Could I trust him not to print a story about it? Not yet, I decided. But then Carter threw me a curveball.
“We were discussing Gary’s case while you were gone,” he said. “His and Lewis’s. And we all agreed that it’s too much of a coincidence that two people from your bar, from this group, have been killed by someone. We’re starting to wonder if we’re the target.”
I felt Mal’s grip on my arm tighten ever so slightly. “Why would you be a target?” I said, trying to sound more nonchalant than I felt.
“Well, we have solved several crimes recently,” Carter said, “although the main impetus behind those solutions was you.” He paused and gave me an apologetic look. “We also considered that you alone may be the target.”
I looked around the room at the faces of everyone, their concern for me ramping up my guilt over my seeming lack of concern for them.
I pointed toward my crutches, which I had leaned against the side of my chair. “Well, if I’m a target, I’m an easy one,” I said lightheartedly. “But your theory about the group being a target is an interesting one. Maybe we should disband.”
“Or maybe we should just be extra alert,” Holly said.
Several people nodded their agreement with this sentiment.
“That’s always a good idea,” I said. “But just in case you’re onto something with this theory of yours, any of you who want to drop out of the group for now would be perfectly justified to do so.”
Everyone in the room exchanged looks, waiting for someone to be the first to speak up. It was Sam who finally did.
“I’m staying put,” he said. “I agree that we should perhaps be more alert and wary of who and what’s around us, but this work we’re doing here is too important to me to drop it.” He paused and gave everyone a sheepish smile. “Besides, I rather enjoy it.”
“Me too,” Holly said, and Alicia echoed the sentiment.
“I’m in,” Carter said.
Tad, Frank, and Joe echoed his remark. The newcomers—Greg Nash, Sonja West, and Stephen McGregor—nodded, too, but they looked less determined.
Clay Sanders said, “If the police thought any of us were in danger, they’d say something, wouldn’t they?”
He shot a knowing glance at Mal when he said this, and I felt Mal’s grip on my arm tighten again almost imperceptibly.
“I’m sure they would,” I said quickly. “But it’s still a good idea to keep your ears and eyes open, just in case.”
Clay narrowed his eyes at me, and I could tell he suspected I knew something I wasn’t sharing. The mental strain of it all was wearing on me, and I wanted some time alone to think. So I grabbed my crutches and pushed myself up from my chair. “I need to go downstairs and check on some things,” I said to no one in particular. “I’m not sure if I’ll be back up here tonight. If I’m not, I’ll see all of you tomorrow, assuming you choose to come back.” I looked over at Clay. “You need to be here tomorrow morning by eleven thirty. Knock on the front door, and I’ll let you in.”
“I’ll be here with bells on,” he said with a smile.
I didn’t smile back. I was too tired even to muster up basic social politeness. I simply nodded and left the room. Mal got up and followed me.
“Are you okay?” he asked as I tackled the stairs.
“I’m fine. Just tired. Everything is a bit overwhelming.”
“Did this Apostle Mike really turn out to be a bust?” he asked in a low voice.
I nodded. “It turns out he’s color blind, and I’m certain there’s no way he could have written the most recent letter, given the green ink and all.”
“Interesting,” Mal said. “So where does that leave us?”
“With a trip to a cemetery come Monday. In the meantime, I want to stay focused on the Middleton case.”
When we reached the main floor, I turned to him and said, “Why don’t you head home. I’m going to check on some things at the bar, and then I’m going to go upstairs for the night. Billy can close up for me. I want to rest so my mind is fresh tomorrow, when we go to the prison.”
“Are you sure? I can stay if you want, sleep on your couch again.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks, but I really do want to be alone. I need to sort my head out.”
“Okay then. I’ll see you in the morning. Want me to bring breakfast?”
“Sure.”
“What would you like?”
“Surprise me.”
“Okay.” He gave me another one of those chaste kisses on the cheek, and then he was gone.
I headed behind the bar, where Billy and Teddy were both working. “How’s it going?” I asked Billy.
“Teddy is a natural at this.”
Teddy looked over at me with a hopeful smile.
“You’re hired,” I said. “Can you work tomorrow?”
“I can work seven days a week if you need me to,” he said excitedly. “Thanks!”
I turned back to Billy. “Would you mind doing the closing stuff for me tonight? I’m feeling a little puny, and I’m going to head upstairs.”
His smile faded into a look of concern. “Sure. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Or at least I will be once I get some rest. This darned leg is a heavy thing to haul around. Between that and the pain pills, I’m just tired.”
“No problem,” Billy said. “You know you can count on me.”
I did, and it was a nice feeling. “Thanks, Billy. See you tomorrow. I’m not sure if I’ll be here when you open up at five. I’m planning a trip up to Waupun.”
“The prison?” Teddy said, and I nodded. “Who do you know there?”
“You have another case,” Billy said before I could answer. “I heard Missy talking about it. What is it?”
“It’s that Middleton carjacking and murder case that happened last year,” I said, knowing Billy was up to speed on all the crimes in the area, particularly one as high profile as the Middleton case had been. “I’m not sure if we’re going to look full into it yet. I’m going to have a chat with the accused tomorrow to see how it shakes out.”
Teddy looked back and forth between me and Billy with a curious expression. “What’s this all about?”
Billy said, “I’ll fill you in later. Suffice it to say that Mack and some of the other patrons here are fervent crime solvers.”
“Speaking of which, you might be able to help us out, Teddy,” I said. “Did you know Tiffany Gallagher?”
“I knew of her,” he said. “I can’t say we were friends or anything like that, but up until recently we ran in a lot of the same circles. I know her brothers, Aidan and Rory.”
“Any chance you heard any gossip about her having an affair?”
Teddy thought a moment before slowly shaking his head. “Can’t say that I have. But I know some folks I could ask, people who are more in the know with that crowd these days than I am.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said. “It could be helpful.”
“Happy to help,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”
With that, I said good night and headed upstairs to my apartment. I ran a hot bath and threw some bubbles in for good measure, feeling a need to pamper myself. When the tub was ready, I carefully lowered myself in, while keeping my casted leg out of the water. Once I was settled in, with my bad leg resting on the side of the tub, I closed my eyes and let my brain go into free thought. Doing this sometimes helped me to figure out problems, but tonight the only thing my mind would focus on was the dead. I kept seeing a parade of people who were gone: my father, Ginny, Lewis, Gary. . . .
I wondered if these visual manifestations were a synesthetic reaction or just a product of my exhausted mind and the events of the day. Whatever it was, it ruined any chance I had of relaxing, so after ten minutes of soaking, I gave up and got out of the tub . . . an Olympic feat with the damned cast.
Half an hour later I was in bed with the TV on, but I had no clue what was airing. Within seconds of my head hitting the pillow, I was sound asleep.