Chapter 12

I had texted Rick that we were on our way and he was waiting for us by the curb, with a grayer and wider version of himself. I knew Rick to be somewhere in his thirties and his father looked to be late-fifty-ish. His hair and stubble were about thirty-seventy black and silver. They turned in tandem to watch us park the Jeep and that’s when I saw just how different the two men were. Rick’s movements were decisive, almost hyper. Whereas his dad seemed to move in molasses.

We got out and they walked to meet us.

When they were closer, Lady Anthea leaned near my shoulder and whispered, “Good Lord, if he was a dog I’d say he had the mange.”

I took in the gray tint to the older man’s complexion. With the image her words had planted in my brain, I doubted I’d ever be able to eat at Mozart’s again. Thank you very much.

“Dad, this is Sue Patrick, a friend of mine,” Rick said. “Thanks for coming,” he added in a whisper. He lowered his eyebrows and seemed to be trying to send me a message. He looked stressed and exasperated. I had never, ever seen Rick in either of those states before. I take that back. When Dayle broke up with him while she was undergoing chemo, he was desperately unhappy.

I held out my hand to shake his father’s. “Mr. Ziegler,” I began, since Rick hadn’t told me his father’s first name, “nice to meet you. This is Lady Anthea, my business partner.” He shook my hand and then hers.

“We don’t often get royalty around here,” he said.

“Oh, I’m not royalty,” she said.

“Sue,” a baritone voice called out. “A word please.”

“No,” I said.

Without missing a beat, John, though he was in full Chief Turner mode, said, “No? That’s not the word I had in mind.” He turned to the Ziegler men. “Let’s go in.”

He led us through the small lobby and down a hallway. Midway down he stopped and held up a hand for Lady Anthea, Rick, and me to halt. “Mr. Ziegler, do you have an attorney?”

“No, I don’t need one. When did getting your classic automobile stolen become a crime in this town?”

Rick cringed at his father’s description of his car.

“You three can wait in the lobby,” John said. He turned on his heel and opened the door for Rick’s dad to go into the room and followed him. The uniformed Lewes police officer, a young woman I’d last seen when my business and then my home both became crime scenes, went into the interrogation room after them. The door was closed on our civilian faces and we stood there glaring at it like it had used bad language then slammed shut.

“This is not going to go well,” Rick said, still staring at the wooden door.

“I’ve had a long day,” Lady Anthea said. “Can we sit in the lobby?”

“Sure,” Rick said. “I forgot you flew in today. Would you like some coffee? Or tea, maybe?”

“No, just a place to sit.”

We sank onto a vinyl sofa and looked longingly at the door to the interrogation room.

“Did Dayle have a doctor’s appointment? Is that why you asked me to come?” I asked.

“No, she’s done with those. Hopefully forever.” He paused and took a breath. “Actually, I was hoping you could use your influence with the police chief,” he said.

“I don’t know if I have any.”

Lady Anthea snorted a laugh.

I rolled my eyes and changed the subject. “Don’t forget Mason and Joey have something special planned for us on the beach tonight after dark. They’ve kept it all a big secret, but it involved trips to Walgreens and the grocery store.” I turned to Rick. “You and Dayle are coming, right?”

He jerked his jaw in the direction of the door. “Depends on how things go here.”

We went back to staring at the door.

“Where did you find your dad?” I asked.

“He was in his apartment, hiding out. Not answering his phone. Not even opening up when I went over there.”

“Ouch,” I said.

“He says I throw shade on him.”

“What in the world does that mean?” Lady Anthea asked, also mesmerized by the closed door.

I had heard Dana and Mason use the term. “It means to trash someone in front of other people.” I tore my eyes from the door to twist on the sofa and face Rick. “That does not sound like you.”

He gave me a weak smile but before he could say anything, the door opened, and Chief Turner strode our way. He sat in the chair opposite our sofa.

“Rick, Ziggy is free to go,” he announced.

“Who’s Ziggy?” Rick asked.

“Your dad—he said it was what everybody called him.”

“His name is Martin. No one calls him Ziggy,” Rick said.

“Well, he’s given us the names of the two individuals he says took the victim’s dog. We’ll try to find them.” John opened up his notebook. “Do you know Arthur Dent or Ford Prefect?”

“No,” Rick said, shaking his head, puzzled.

“I think you should let Rick and me sit in,” I said, trying not to laugh.

“Why would I do that? I’m getting somewhere,” John said.

“Not really.” Yeah, I was gloating. “Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect are the main characters in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

In one fast, angry arc, Chief Turner was out of the chair and halfway back to the interrogation room. He pushed the door open. “Sit down!” we heard him say before the door closed again.

“Did you find the car?” I asked. We were speaking to one another but back to staring at that damn door.

“No,” Rick said. “It wasn’t at Mozart’s.”

“Rick, your father said it was stolen. Does he know where the car is?” Lady Anthea asked in a low tone, in case any of the uniformed officers who walked by from time to time were listening. “I’m not familiar with the laws here, but in England that would be classified as insurance fraud.”

“Insurance?!” Rick and I practically yelled the word at the same time.

“She hasn’t seen the ca—” I got out before going into uncontrollable laughter.

Rick started laughing too, and we were both wiping our eyes. I doubled over on the sofa at the thought of the insurance premiums compared to the value of Rick’s father’s car.

When Rick was able to, he said, “I don’t know if he knows where the car is or not. You see, my father has an unusual kind of relationship with the truth.”

The interrogation room door opened and I straightened up and tried to look serious. John looked happy. He sat in the same chair, and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “He was afraid to tell me the truth before. This is serious. What really happened was someone kidnapped the dog that was left at the lighthouse and demanded dog food as ransom. It fits in with there being two robberies.” He turned to Rick. “Sue told me how expensive the good stuff is. The ringleader has a teenager working for him who was going to pass the dog food on to some other teenagers to sell.”

“Did he tell you who the mastermind was?” Lady Anthea asked.

“The name’s Walter White,” Chief Turner said.

“It’s going to be a long night,” I said with a sigh.

“Please let Sue and me go in there,” Rick pleaded.

Chief Turner’s eyes moved from one of us to the other. “You think that’s an alias?”

“He’s the main character from Breaking Bad, a TV show,” Rick said, breaking it to him as gently as he could.

“Son of a…!” The speed and ferocity in Chief Turner’s return to the room startled me.

When I saw the door had closed all the way, I whispered, “Good one, Daddy-O.”

The next time the door opened, Chief Turner leaned out. “Sue and Rick, would you come in?”

When I was close enough to him to speak in a low voice, I asked, “The last time you came out you mentioned the dog food robberies. Did Mr. Ziegler bring them up? Does he know about them?”

He had lowered his head to hear me and now he was looking into my eyes, closing the distance between our faces. Then he straightened, smashed his lips into a tight line, and shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

I looked around him, back at Lady Anthea, still seated on the sofa in the lobby. She stood and motioned for me to go on ahead.

“Are you going to look for a place to get a cup of tea?” I asked.

“Put a G and an and on that and you’ll hit the mark,” she said.

“Huh?” Rick said, joining Chief Turner and me.

I laughed. “I’m trying to convert her from her gin and tonics to orange crushes but I haven’t had much luck.” I’d introduced Lady Anthea to the state drink of Delaware last year.

“When in Lewes, Lady Anthea,” he called over his shoulder.

I watched as she headed for the door; again struck by how comfortable we were around her now.