Chapter 20

I pulled on the endoscope, and to my horror, the endoscope pulled back.

Whoever was on the other side of the wall was playing tug-of-war with me. And just a minute earlier, I’d felt so clever. Now I could end up strung up half-naked in the alleyway. Or worse. How did the Russian mob dispose of people? Lionel Kelley would know.

I dropped to the floor and crept out of that room, lest someone start shooting through the wall. After all, just drywall separated me from whomever was now in the barber shop, and anyone who watched HGTV knew you could just kick right through that.

In the wider open space of the shop I felt more exposed, so I kept on crawling until I was hidden from view behind a display rack of building blocks. I strained to hear any sound above the pounding of blood in my ears. After about thirty seconds, my pulse was beginning to slow, then the pounding on the front door began again.

Why was Dad taking so long to get here? I reached for my phone to call him again and realized that my cell was still in the comic book room.

Could I make it to the shop phone? Not without being seen from the front windows.

I wrung my hands trying to corral my panicked thoughts then looked around for anything that might be used as a weapon, or at least a deterrent.

The glass case where we displayed our toy guns was at the end of the aisle. We’d had to keep them padlocked because many old toy guns were so realistic we worried they could get someone shot. In fact, Dad only sold them to serious collectors he knew would keep them secured. And I did still have the shop keys in my pocket.

Careful to stay out of sight, I crab-walked over to the case, jiggled the key in the lock, and carefully and quietly eased away the padlock and lifted the hasp. Worried that someone from the street might see the lid of the case rise, I elevated it by infinitesimal increments. My arm muscles began to burn then trembled from the strain. When I’d raised the lid about four inches, I visualized the stock of the case, then made a quick reach for the Mattel Fanner 50, one of the most realistic cap guns ever made. Once I had the gun in hand, I let the lid fall closed, collapsed back against the display rack, and rubbed my aching arm.

More urgent pounding at the door echoed through the shop.

I examined the toy gun in my hand, ripped off the price tag, and practiced holding it.

Why couldn’t I be content selling old toys? Now here I was: on the verge of confronting a possible killer with only a shop full of toys to protect me. If only Dad were here. But that thought left me shaky. Would they go after my father when he arrived?

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, but it was only Val, headed toward me. Then the cat, who normally had nothing to do with any of us unless maybe it was time to eat, lifted a paw to climb up on my lap. I pushed her away, but that just made her more determined. Moments later she extended all her claws trying to steady herself on my thighs.

More sounds came from the door, but not the banging sound from earlier. This sound was even more terrifying: the sound of the lock clicking open followed by the bell over the door ringing. Then a few slow footsteps.

I tried again to push Val off my lap, but she hissed in protest and dug in her claws even tighter.

The footsteps stopped and I froze, trying not to breathe.

For one brief moment I wondered if throwing Val at the intruder would be more effective than the toy gun, but I pushed aside the impulse. Despite her quirks, she was beginning to grow on me. So I let her rest on my lap while I picked up the cap gun and aimed it at the end of the aisle.

More footsteps creaked. I swallowed hard, wondering who might soon round the corner of the aisle. A Russian mobster? Pastor Pete? Some other resourceful killer?

I tabled my regrets for becoming involved in this case; anyone who could so easily enter locked doors, inflict terror, and disrupt so many lives needed to be stopped. I steadied the toy gun with two arms.

But the face that peered around the corner was the rookie Jenkins, in uniform.

“Whoa,” he said, lifting his hands. “You don’t want to do that.”

“How did you get in?”

“Your father gave me the keys.”

“Dad’s here?”

Jenkins nodded. “Can you put down the gun?”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? You seemed pretty anxious to kill me on the back of that snowmobile.”

“Look,” he said, eyeing the gun, “sorry about that. We were out all night looking for you, and I might have been a little agitated. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Liz!” Dad called from the door.

“Back here!”

Jenkins retreated into the shadows when Dad rounded the corner. “She pulled a gun on me.”

Dad rolled his eyes and took the toy from my hands. “It’s a cap gun. And it’s not even loaded. Liz …”

“I didn’t know who came in.”

Dad turned to Jenkins. “You didn’t announce yourself? Police?”

Jenkins hung his head.

Dad wagged a finger at him. “Would have served you right if she’d shot you.” He held out a hand and helped me up before leaning in closer. “You and I will talk about this later.” He stepped back. “And am I right in thinking that little camera was your doing?”

I could feel my cheeks flame. “You said not to leave the shop.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to Jenkins. “Let’s get the photographer in there and start taking some new pictures.”

Jenkins seemed happy to hightail it out of the shop.

Dad leaned closer. “What were you thinking?”

“About the camera or the cap gun?”

“Let’s start with the camera.”

“I was thinking that I wanted to see what was going on, just to be that fly on the wall. And then I noticed that Lionel Kelley left his equipment.”

“And if the killer was in there and caught you, you’d be one dead fly. Not to mention, if Jenkins had been following his training, he might have shot you.” Despite the seriousness of his tone, the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “I should put you over my knee and give you the swat you deserve.”

I groaned. “What gave me away?”

“When you pushed the camera through, you left drywall dust on the floor.” He scratched his chin. “You know how to make a pest of yourself.”

“You’re not mad?”

“How could I be? Jenkins needed to be taken down a peg.”

“You’re talking about the man who’d be happy to see me arrested for murder.”

“Won’t come to that. I’d quit first.”

“Then nothing would be stopping him, would it?”

“Take heart, kiddo. I don’t think there’s any need to start trying on orange jumpsuits. There was a huge break in the case today. First time that it feels like we’re making any headway.”

“Really? Was this the ‘situation’ you mentioned on the phone?”

“Yes, that shyster the sisters hired finally showed his face. When he actually talked with Anechka, he decided it would be better for her to cooperate with authorities, especially when her drug test came back positive for opiates. It may have been impressed upon her that an undocumented illegal alien drug abuser who wouldn’t cooperate with police would soon find herself on a slow boat back to Russia.”

“So she talked?”

“Sang like Ethel Merman. Turns out she wanted to make a break from her employers and move up here with Marya. Only when she gave notice, the people who smuggled her into the country got nervous she was about to blow the whistle on their whole operation. They intimated that they had friends high up in the government. If Anechka either came back to work or paid them off, they’d ‘find’ her paperwork and she’d be free to stay. But if she blabbed, they’d turn her over to immigration and she’d be deported. Marya figured the cabin would be a good place to hide her.”

“Will she be deported?”

“Maybe. Eventually. But in the meantime, I’m going to want her as a witness, and so will the FBI, the DEA, and ICE. We had a whole boatload of alphabet soup involved in this. And police in two states.”

“Did Anechka say any more about what Marya was up to or who might have killed her? Could it be the Russians? I’ll never live it down if Lionel Kelley was right about that.”

“Anechka was mostly locked up in that cabin detoxing,” Dad said. “Marya tried to handle the situation, maybe paying off the traffickers—we’re still trying to work that out. But she didn’t share with her sister much of what she was doing.”

“Anechka wouldn’t have liked it if she found out her baby sister was dealing drugs.”

A shadow fell over Dad’s face. “That’s where it gets a little strange. Anechka admits that Marya supplied her with oxycontin, trying to wean her off the drug by tapering off the dosage gradually.”

“That rings true,” I said. “Ken’s sisters told me that Marya had tried to do the same thing before. The addiction kept Anechka dependent on her employers.”

“Anechka also admitted that Marya lifted a few pills from her clients. And based on the numbers that Lionel Kelley was investigating, it probably doesn’t amount to much more than that.”

“But the money,” I said. “The larger amounts of money going in and out of her hands.”

“We’re back to the drawing board on that,” he said. “I’m not sure where it came from. But at least I think we know where it was going.”

“The traffickers?”

Dad smirked. “I think so. I had guys pull all the security cams on Main Street on the days that Mark Baker said Marya likely transferred cash. We caught her coming out of the barber shop between clients and getting into a pickup with Carolina plates. Guess what they found parked at that chicken plant in NC? So things are coming together, piece by piece.”

“Except who killed Marya. And why. If she was paying them off, they’d have no motive to harm her.”

“That’s the fly in the ointment,” he said. “Maybe, since her husband was the chief of police and he was following her around, they thought he was getting too close.”

“Then why not target him?” I said. “Going after Marya would be like poking the bear.”

“Still, that’s a lot of suspects, a lot of witnesses, and a few folks looking to trade information for lighter sentences. Someone will end up implicated. I suspect it won’t be Ken, and it certainly won’t be you. After everyone is interviewed, maybe something will pop there.”

“Pop. Fly? Are we moving puns into baseball now? Can I cry foul?”

“Nah. That one was unintentional. So you’re off base.”

“Standing in left field?” I said. “Catching flies?”

“Home run.”

*   *   *

By the time Dad gave me the okay to open the shop for business as usual, Cathy was due to start her shift. I filled her in on the morning’s events. I may have downplayed the part about pulling a cap gun on a police officer.

“Lionel Kelley in his tighty whities? Oh, that must have been a sight.”

“Actually, the fledgling private eye is a boxers man,” I said, glad she’d latched onto that detail. “Oh, and remember me saying I thought we had a feral cat problem in the alley? Turns out we do not.”

“Sure? That ammonia smell by the dumpster was pretty intense.”

“Trust me.” I held up my hands. “You do not want to know the whole story.”

But with Cathy to mind the shop, I texted Mark and asked if he was free for lunch.

“It would have to be in Buffalo,” he replied. “Only have forty-five minutes.”

“Meet you at your office?” I asked.

“Sounds good.”

*   *   *

I’m not fond of traffic circles, so the half hour trip grew a little bit dicey at the end, but my GPS guided me there, even if I did get a great view of the McKinley monument by circling it about three times. I’m even worse at parallel parking, so I was glad to find Mark waiting outside the concrete and glass FBI building. He hopped into my passenger seat and buckled up.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Dinosaur Bar-B-Que okay?” I asked. “How strict is that forty-five minutes?”

“It’s been known to be flexible, especially if brisket is involved,” he said. “Lead on, McDuff.”

The restaurant wasn’t that busy on an early Monday afternoon, and our food came out quickly. Mark, as predicted, ordered the brisket. I’d contemplated getting the Carolina pork sandwich, but considering what was going on with Ken, Marya, and a certain chicken plant, I decided to avoid it. And the chicken, for that matter. I opted for the Tres Niños, a plate with a generous sampling of brisket, ribs, and pork, which turned out to be a wise choice. I think the adrenaline expenditure had left me ravenous.

“I have to say,” Mark said, “I’ve never had a woman ask me out before. I’m afraid you’ll find me terribly old-fashioned.”

“Are you offended that I asked you?” I said.

“Oh, no. I’m glad you did. I just hope you don’t mind if I pick up the check. I’ve also been known to open doors and stuff. Not sure where you stood on that.”

“Mark, as an accountant, you probably know all about the struggles of small businesses, right?”

“In college I wrote a thesis on it.”

“Then you know I’ll be happy to let you pay. As for doors, I don’t mind a little pampering now and then. But if it’s cold outside, I’m not going to wait on ceremony.”

“Gotcha. I think we’re good.”

“I have to admit something, though. I had an ulterior motive for inviting you to lunch.”

Mark leaned forward. “Sounds intriguing.”

“Don’t get too excited. I just wanted to know if you could tell me something about the investigation.”

“Are you sure you want to keep going with this?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, why would you ask?”

He blushed ever so slightly.

“Who told you?”

“About you holding off Jenkins with a cap gun? You gotta figure everyone in law enforcement in the county is talking about it. Don’t be too embarrassed, though. You actually came off much better than Jenkins.”

I shook my head. “Which gives him another reason to hate me.”

He pressed a hand on mine. “You must have been scared to death. Look, Liz, this isn’t fun and games anymore. That’s why I asked if you’re sure you want to continue.”

I nodded. “It was never fun and games. But this one seems worse. Maybe it’s because someone in the police department, someone we trust to keep us safe, might be involved. The chief is suspected of murder. I know my dad has to investigate him, but because of that, a lot of the younger officers don’t trust him. Jenkins is a police officer, but today he terrified me. And it goes beyond the fragmented police department. Pastor Pete is a minister, but I saw him loitering on the street near the shop. And that made me afraid.”

“I’m still looking into Pastor Pete,” Mark said. “His parole officer said he had no problems, and I also put a call into the prison chaplain. He said Pete found the light in prison, was a model prisoner after that, and got his degree from an online Bible school while he was still incarcerated. The chaplain is fairly certain his reform is genuine.”

“Which still leaves open the possibility that he relapsed when he got out.” My shoulders sank. “It’s just impossible to know who to trust. It’s like some demented version of the Sesame Street song about all the “People in Your Neighborhood,” except any upstanding member of the community might be a stone-cold killer out to get you. Mark, this needs to end, and I can’t see that happening until Marya’s killer is behind bars. So will you help me?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Dad told me that you’d narrowed down two dates where money was most likely transferred, and that they think they have video of the handoff.”

“It was a good break,” he said. “I, uh, might be able to clue you into something even your father doesn’t know yet.”

I sat up in my chair. “Really?”

“Shortly after the second payoff, Marya filed an I-130.”

“Oh.”

“You have no idea what an I-130 is, do you?”

“Not a clue.”

“Since Marya was now a citizen, she could petition that Anechka become one, too. But only if she could prove their relationship. My working theory is that she paid off the traffickers to cough up the paperwork she needed to file the form.”

“Nice,” I said, then sighed. “And sad. With Marya now dead, what happens to Anechka?”

“No idea. That,” he said, “is a little beyond my pay grade.”

“Can you tell me what days Marya paid off the traffickers?”

Mark paused for a moment, dabbing a bit of his honey cornbread into the remnants of sauce on his plate. “I don’t see any harm in that. I don’t have them on me, though. But I can text you when I get back to the office.” He leaned back in his chair. “Can I ask you a question in return? Why didn’t you just ask your father?”

“And deny you the opportunity of Dinosaur brisket?”

“Seriously.”

“Well, besides needing to get away from the shop for a little while, I wanted to see you.”

He reached across the table and took my hand. I just hoped it wasn’t too sticky with all the barbecue sauce. “I wanted to see you, too.”

He glanced around, then assured no one was looking, leaned in for a kiss.

“Mark,” I said, after I caught my breath. “You got barbecue sauce all over your tie.”