Chapter 24

During that dusky mental twilight that just precedes sleep, my idle brain tossed the details of the investigation together with snippets from my personal life into a very unusual salad of thoughts.

Of course, the whole idea of a thought-salad is unusual, too, but that’s how my brain works when I’m half asleep.

If I assumed that the person who broke into the barber shop was the same person who killed Marya, then the killer had to be a man based on Lionel Kelley’s description of the attacker. And the only men I could think of who’d been suspect in the investigation were Ken, Bob, and Pastor Pete.

Without flicking on the light, I grabbed my phone and cropped the picture of Bob and an old picture of Ken, so that only the eyes were showing. I did the same with a JPEG of Pastor Pete that I downloaded from the church’s website.

If Lionel Kelley was sure he’d recognize his attacker based on those “deep, piercing Russian eyes,” why not give him a full lineup? So I also cropped pictures of Dad’s eyes, Parker’s, and Ian’s—from the photo of the two of us that was in the paper.

“You awake?” I texted Lionel. Since I wasn’t sure he’d respond just to that, I also texted that I might have a picture of his attacker’s eyes.

“I’m up,” he said. “Right out back, in fact.”

I considered taking my phone down there so I could see his reaction, but I didn’t want to leave my warm bed.

“Six pictures,” I said.

First I sent the picture of my dad’s eyes, then Bob’s, then Ian’s, then Ken’s.

“That’s him!” he texted back, before I even got to Parker’s. My heart sank. I never wanted to believe it was Ken. I trusted him once, shame on him. Trusted him twice, shame—

“No on the fourth pic,” Lionel texted back. “But the third is definitely him.”

I looked back. The third picture was Ian’s eyes. I sent the picture again. “These?”

“Yes!”

That just didn’t make sense. From all accounts Ian didn’t know Marya, and the only connection I could think of was that Marya cut his mother’s hair. I decided that Lionel must be mistaken.

Still …

I mentally replayed my conversations with Ian. He was ambitious, true. And he was also a bit detached, almost heartless. Would he kill someone? If the stakes were high enough and if he thought he could get away with it? Quite possibly.

But why kill Marya?

Romantic involvement gone awry? Not that I knew of. Something to do with his business? I’d not heard of any connections.

Still, something didn’t sit quite right, especially when I recounted our conversation over dinner. I recalled quite clearly saying that the picture of Bob was a man suspected in a break-in. And a little bit later, he’d said that hairspray was a great place to hide something in a barber shop.

I just didn’t recall mentioning to him that the break-in was in the barbershop, and I didn’t think the news had covered it.

My phone buzzed again.

“You got a late date tonight?” Lionel asked.

“Had one,” I said. “In bed now.”

“Someone just parked out back. I’m going to check it out.”

As soon as I read that last bit, I shot up with a surge of adrenaline. Over dinner I told Ian that a witness could identify the attacker. I’d also let slip about the safe, and I still hadn’t heard if Dad had gone there to pick it up.

“Don’t!” I texted back.

But I didn’t get a response.

“You OK?”

Still no response.

I pushed the covers aside. Startled, Othello went flying.

I swung Dad’s door open, but his bed was made and empty. On a chance, I found him sleeping in his recliner again with Val in his lap.

I shook him. “Wake up!”

“What!?”

“Did you get to the barber shop to check out that can of hairspray?”

“No, first thing in the morning.” He tried to doze off again.

“No, you don’t understand. I think I know who the killer is. And Lionel Kelley might be in danger right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on! Get up! And bring your gun!”

Without waiting to see if he followed me, I tore open the apartment door and ran down the stairs, using only the ambient light to navigate. I paused at the back door and tried to peek through the window. Other than Ian’s Prius parked in the alley, I saw no signs of anyone about.

I mentally kicked myself. Lionel had also said he thought his attacker might have come on foot, because he never heard him drive up. A sick feeling curdled my stomach when I recalled how I hadn’t heard Ian drive away after our last date. It was remarkable how quiet a Prius can be at low speeds.

I looked back to see Dad come out of the apartment. His gun was tucked into his holster. “Hurry!” When he joined me downstairs, I pointed out Ian’s Prius through the small window.

“What’s he doing here?” Dad asked.

“There’s no time to explain all that,” I said. “Ian knows about the hairspray and he knows Lionel can identify his eyes. You have to do something!”

Dad looked more perturbed than anything. “Fine, I’ll see what kind of trouble that fool PI’s gotten himself into now, but maybe you should go back to bed. You’re not making any sense.”

With that he pushed open the door and stepped outside.

As soon as he left my frame of vision, I started to panic. Dad never quite received the whole message.

Still, he was a trained professional, and he had his gun.

Except I’d also just awakened him out of a sound sleep, and I’m not sure he quite understood what he might be walking into.

But if anyone could handle the situation, Dad could.

Stress had tied my stomach in knots, or maybe whatever I’d eaten for dinner—I never quite figured it out—didn’t agree with me.

Finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I pushed open the door a crack to peek outside.

When I did, the whole door flung open. Ian Browning wrenched my arm and jerked me outside, holding me in front of him.

Just down the alley, Dad, who had his gun trained in our direction, lowered it, so it was pointed down into the snow. Kelley stumbled after him, alive, but apparently injured again.

“You don’t want to do this, son,” Dad said.

“Son.” Ian snorted. “That might have happened if Mother had her way.”

“Let’s talk this out,” Dad said. He’d stopped advancing and just held his place in the alley, his eyes never off Ian. “Right now you haven’t done anything we can’t work out.”

“He attacked me!” Lionel said, stepping forward. “Twice!”

That’s when I first saw that Ian also had a gun in his right hand. Dad could name the model and tell you the range and all relative stats. I just knew they shot bullets and were dangerous. And right now I was at point-blank range.

Dad put his hands up to quiet Lionel, but he’d already gotten the message and shrank behind Dad.

“How’s this going to work?” Dad said, his voice unnaturally calm. I expected it was from long practice.

“I want the hairspray,” Ian said.

Dad inhaled. “The hairspray in the barbershop.”

“It’s a safe,” I said. “At least I think it is.”

“And what exactly is inside this … hairspray?” Dad asked.

“Drugs!” Lionel Kelley said. “That’s where Marya must have kept the drugs!”

“Now what would you want with drugs?” Dad asked Ian.

“It’s not about drugs,” he said. “Look, Marya had something she shouldn’t have, something that didn’t belong to her. All I wanted to do was get it back. That silly tart wouldn’t give it to me.”

“Something she’d taken?” I said, trying to reflect my Dad’s practiced calmness in my own voice. “Stolen maybe, from your mother’s purse?”

Ian’s grasp on my arm grew tighter, and I knew I’d gotten it right.

“Silly woman,” he said. And at this point, I wasn’t sure if he was talking about Marya or his mother. Or maybe me.

“She always called herself ‘the woman behind the man.’ Only for her it wasn’t a mere figure of speech. For thirty years, she was working behind the scenes. Dad assumed all his achievements were due to his great business sense, that he had some kind of Midas touch. And yet Mother dear was clearing the way, leaving a trail of bribed officials in her wake.”

“Just because your mother may have crossed a few lines,” Dad started.

Ian snorted. “It’d be bad enough if she was discreet. But no, she stuffed all the proof a jury would need to convict her into her four-hundred dollar handbag and did what? Went for a discount haircut. To the chief of police’s wife! At first I thought that maybe he was in on it too. That maybe he was having her investigate for him.”

“Marya was looking for oxycontin,” I said. “If she found anything incriminating in your mother’s purse … Is that how you became involved? Your mother told you?” Had the whole Browning family been complicit in Marya’s death?

“No, Mother went on for months paying blackmail. Then I noticed household bills weren’t being paid. Dad was too busy with his ‘important work,’ so he had me look into it.” He rolled his eyes. “I found the cash withdrawals right away, and when I confronted her, she admitted what she had done.”

“It sounds like you don’t approve,” Dad said. “Look, if you only found out after the fact …”

“They’d take it all, anyway.”

“Who’s that?” Dad asked.

“The government. The lawyers. As soon as hard evidence of that kind of corruption hit, they’d be on us like vultures, picking the carcass clean. We could have done with a little less money. She could have let Dad work a little harder for it. But instead, she ruined us all.”

Ian Browning would be the heir apparent … of nothing.

“So you went to Marya to get this evidence back,” I said, still trying to keep him calm and talking. I was finding this increasingly difficult with his grip on my arm cutting off circulation and the cold seeping in through my footed pajamas, feeling like a thousand hypodermic needles jabbing my toes.

“She’d promised my mother that she’d give the evidence back if she paid her blackmail. But Marya demanded more. So I went to see her.”

“And Marya wouldn’t give you back the evidence, either,” I said.

“She said she needed more money. One more payment. So I tried to scare her. Threaten her. But she screamed and said she’d turn me in. I didn’t know what to do. She just kept screaming. Sooner or later, someone would hear. So I grabbed the hair dryer.” His grip tightened around me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dad said, inching forward. “Don’t you think this has snowballed far enough?” But I swore he looked at me when he said it.

When Dad advanced, Ian pulled me back with him. Back to where gigantic icicles now hung from the awning over the back door. With all the craziness, none of us had found time to clear them away.

“Put down the gun,” Dad said. “Put the gun down. Let my daughter go. Then we’ll sit down and talk this over.” His voice was soothing, but he kept inching closer.

Ian pulled me back one more time. “I have to think—”

I used his momentary distraction to wriggle out of his grasp and then I lunged toward the icicles. A large one broke off into my hands, and I swung it like a baseball bat. It connected with Ian’s arm, breaking into several large chunks and sending off a spray of glassy shards in all directions. The gun went flying into the snow bank.

Ian reached for me again, and I found myself caught between him and the dumpster. I don’t know exactly where my next move came from—maybe the inspiration came from the Batgirl jammies I was still wearing, but as he continued to advance, I braced myself against the dumpster and kicked, as hard and high as I could.

In all the kerfuffle, I didn’t see where my kick had landed, but it did—I only know because I felt the impact all the way up my leg and I hoped I hadn’t broken any numb toes. But when Ian lay in the alley, curled up into the fetal position, I had my suspicions.

Dad was on him in an instant, pinning Ian face-down in the ice and securing his arms behind him. “Liz,” he said, “get my cuffs? They’re upstairs.”

*   *   *

Hours later, I was still in my Batman pajamas, to the amusement of all the men at the police station. I had a bandage on my cheek where an ice shard had given me a nasty slice I didn’t even feel until the excitement was over. I was also limping a little. Someone had put me in a chair and found, of all things, an icepack for my swelling foot.

Howard Reynolds had been in charge of taking my statement. He’d been amused at my attire from the moment I sat down and had to turn away and clear his throat when I reached the part about kicking Ian.

“It was Dad who reminded me about the icicles,” I said, “when he said Ian’s plan had snowballed. Parker and I used to go out and have ‘snowball’ fights, but Dad caught us more than once chucking ice balls at each other and sword-fighting with icicles. We got into so much trouble.”

“So this was your father’s cue?”

“At least I think so,” I said, but Reynolds was looking past me to the door, where Jenkins and another uniformed officer were escorting Valerie and her husband in.

Valerie made eye contact, tried to smile, then the look grew cold. She turned as they were led to the conference/interrogation room, officially showing me the cold shoulder.

“What’s going to happen to them?” I asked Reynolds.

He took a long breath. “It depends on how much they knew, and how deeply they were involved.”

I considered what this meant. From what Ian had said about his father being clueless, I suspected Mr. Browning knew nothing of his wife’s activities. But that didn’t mean their holdings wouldn’t be seized when the bribery allegations started flying. Valerie, on the other hand, was up to her eyeballs in white-collar crime, even if she wasn’t an accessory to murder. But if she knew that Ian went to confront Marya on her behalf …

I sighed.

“Yeah,” Reynolds said. “It’s going to be that kind of a day.”

I was still answering Reynolds’s questions when Mark Baker arrived. He squeezed my shoulder as he passed but followed my father into his office. When the door opened, I could see the mayor already inside, but the door closed behind them before I could hear anything.

When Reynolds finished with me, I lingered at the coffee for a bit, snagged the last of the doughnuts—red velvet—and nonchalantly stared at the closed door to my dad’s office. Reynolds had said I was free to go home, but two things kept me at the station. One, I was hoping to get an idea of what was going on behind those closed doors, and if Dad didn’t tell me, Mark might. Since it looked like he’d been called in, I suspected that the contents of the Aqua Net safe did indeed point to the white-collar investigation Mark was working on.

Of course, the second reason I didn’t leave is because it would mean parading down Main Street in my Batgirl jammies in broad daylight.

Lionel Kelley finished his interview and joined me at the coffee. He picked up the empty doughnut box and sighed.

“Sorry,” I said, still chewing on the last bite. I washed it down with the strong, hot coffee.

“I was right, though,” he said, pouring himself a cup. “About the eyes, wasn’t I?”

“Have to give you credit there.”

“You must have suspected him, though, to send me his picture.”

“Actually, I’d suspected his mother until I realized she didn’t have the physical dexterity to …”

“Off Marya Young.” Lionel glanced at his watch. “I suppose I need to brief my client. Let him know the investigation is officially over. Do you think it will hit the papers before tomorrow?

“I think it probably will make the evening news,” I said.

“Maybe I can still charge him for half a day.”

“No other clients on the horizon?” I asked.

“Not in this sleepy town.”

“Give it time,” I said. “One thing I learned over the past few years, East Aurora may look like a sleepy little town, but there’s more going on under the surface. Something will bubble up.”

“You think?” His eyes lit up. “Thanks, Liz. Something to look forward to!”

New voices entering the room drew my attention. Ken Young and his sisters walked in. He made a beeline to where I was standing. “Is it true? They caught her killer?”

“We,” Lionel said, putting his arm around my shoulder and gesturing to himself and me. “We caught the killer.”

“And my father,” I said.

“Who was it?” Ken said, his eyes wide.

“Ian Browning,” I said.

“That smarmy new boyfriend of yours?” Ken said. “Where’s he at?” His gaze swept the room, and he looked like a bull ready to charge.

“Whoa there,” Lionel said, putting up a hand.

Ken swatted his hand away and advanced toward the chief’s office.

Reynolds stood up and planted himself in Ken’s path. “Is this appropriate?”

That stopped Ken in his tracks, but not those two bulldogs, Nancy and Grace.

“Can he talk to you like that?” Grace asked.

“Back home, nobody would talk to the chief of police like that in his own department,” Nancy said.

“Settle down,” Ken told his sisters, but he cast a wild look toward his former office, then tried to duck around Reynolds.

There was never really a scuffle, but while trying to skirt his former detective, Ken upset a garbage can, which clattered to the floor, spewing its contents. Several officers at their desks jumped at the commotion and a chair tipped over.

The chief’s door swung open, and my dad stepped out and whistled to quiet things down.

“I want in,” Ken said. “From what I hear, I’ve been cleared.”

The mayor stepped out of the office behind my father. “Ken, there’s still a lot to wrap up. When everything has settled down, we’ll talk about the possibility of reinstatement.”

“The possibility?” Ken said. “You’re firing me?”

“They can’t do that, can they?” Nancy said. “Maybe we could get that lawyer working on it.”

Ken’s face grew rigid. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t do much good. I serve at the pleasure of the mayor.” I could see he struggled to keep the emotion from his voice. “It’s him, isn’t it?” He pointed to my father. “Now that you have Hank McCall back, you don’t want me.”

The mayor shook his head. “That’s not it.”

“Son,” Dad started.

But Ken wasn’t ready to hear anything from him. Instead he addressed the mayor. “If you’re not pleased with what I did, tell me. Here and now. What did I do wrong?”

Mayor Briggs took his time to answer, but looked Ken straight in the face. “Fine. A woman in our community was stealing drugs, harboring an undocumented alien, and blackmailing at least one person. That woman lived in your house, right under your nose. If you knew about this—”

“I didn’t,” Ken said.

The mayor cleared his throat. “If you knew about it, people won’t trust your character. If you didn’t know about it, people won’t trust your capability to do this job. This is going to be public knowledge very soon. How much confidence do you think you’ll have in this community when folks learn the truth?”

Ken’s face blanched. “Fine,” he finally said. “You’ll have my resignation on your desk today.”

“But can he do that?” Nancy asked.

“He just did,” Ken said. He strode up to my father, shook his hand, and said, “Good luck.” Then he turned and walked out, his sisters following behind.

I watched him leave, then tapped Dad’s sleeve. “What did he mean, good luck?”

Dad tilted his head toward the office, and I followed him inside. It was a bit crowded. The mayor was still there. Mark Baker sat at my father’s desk wearing plastic gloves and looking over curled paperwork. The Aqua Net safe was also on the desk, now in a plastic evidence bag.

“What did he mean?” I asked again.

“Liz, Mayor Briggs just asked if I’d stay on permanently as chief of police.”

“Dad—” My voice cracked, and my father grew blurry as tears started welling.

“And I was just about to tell him no.” Dad turned to the mayor. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to make a recommendation. You got a good man in Howard Reynolds. He has the experience, the instinct, and the respect of the rest of the men in the department. Give him a few days so he doesn’t feel like he’s stealing his former boss’s job, and I think he’ll take it.”

The mayor clapped my father on the shoulder. “He was my second choice. Thanks.” He winked at me on the way out. “Nice jammies.”

Mark looked up from the desk and gave me a broad smile.

I collapsed into a guest chair and self-consciously crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I was right about the safe, huh? Anything good inside?”

Mark looked at my father. Dad looked at Mark. Finally, Dad said, “Up to you. She probably deserves it, considering.”

“I agree,” Mark said. “Without going into specifics, Marya intercepted bids for a municipal contract.”

“From Browning Construction?” I asked.

Mark shook his head. “From their competitors. These bids were supposed to be sealed, but someone on the committee leaked the bids to Mrs. Browning. The Brownings could then submit a more competitive bid. It’s how they won so many contracts. It also gives us a reason to subpoena all of their financial records.”

“Ian said she’d been the woman behind the man for thirty years,” I said. “That’s potentially a long history of corruption.”

“Just keep it on the QT,” Dad said. “This is going to topple more than one prominent official.”

“In East Aurora?” I asked.

Mark shook his head. “In a number of communities in the area, but apparently he didn’t like to …” Mark stopped there, but I knew the colorful expression he’d been going for.

“Pee on his own dumpster?” I offered instead.

Dad laughed. “You got it.”

“There’s also good news for Anechka in there. Apparently Marya did manage to acquire all her paperwork. She has a valid green card that’s up to date, so she’s not in the country illegally after all.”

“That is good news,” I said, stifling a yawn.

“Maybe you should get home and get some sleep,” Dad said. “Nothing keeping you here. Is someone minding the store?”

“Cathy,” I said. “Although she’s going to want details when I get back. Only …” I pointed to my clothing. “I could use a ride, preferably to the back alley.”

Dad winced. “They cordoned that off while they sweep it for evidence. It’ll have to be the front door.”

“I guess I can make a run for it.”

Mark stood up. “I’d be happy to drive you home.”

Dad looked at Mark but raised no objections.

I was failing to stifle more yawns in the car and also failed to keep up with the conversation.

Mark laughed. “You have no idea what I just said, do you?”

“Sorry.”

“Look, maybe we should cancel tonight.”

“No!” I said. “I just need a few hours sleep, then I’ll run to the grocery store.”

“Tell you what. How about we alter the plans, then? You come over to my place, and I’ll cook for you.”

“You cook?”

“No gourmet, but I haven’t killed anyone yet,” he said, echoing my words. “Besides, it’ll be easier to tell you … that thing that I need to tell you.”

I must have looked worried.

“It’s not that bad. I think you’ll be okay with it.”

“What time?” I said through another yawn.

“I’ll text you that and the address. Okay?”

I nodded and wiped my eyes.

He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

I put my hand on the car handle, waited a minute for foot traffic in front of the shop to clear, then made a run for it.

*   *   *

Cathy was busy with customers in the shop. And of course they did a double-take when someone wearing Batgirl jammies entered. I went to the backroom and waited for them to leave, which took about ten minutes. I stared at the coffeepot, but my stomach was already roiling.

I started to tell her the story. I’d gotten to the part where Ian had pulled me out of the shop, then sentences stopped forming.

“You need sleep,” she said. And then the shop bell rang. “And I need to get that.”

“Tell you what.” I looked at the clock. “Give me five hours, then come up and wake me. I have to get ready for dinner with Mark by then, and I’ll tell you the rest.”

Of course, the cats didn’t care how tired I was. They let me know, in no uncertain terms, that they were on the brink of starvation. I poured out two full cans of something. Not even sure what kind, but I figured it would hold them for a while.

When I found my room, I quickly slipped into a fresh pair of pajamas and directly under the covers. In moments, the worries, cares, and stress of the past couple of weeks melted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I awoke, Cathy was pushing garments around in my closet.

I stretched out some of the stiffness and propped myself up. “What are you doing?”

“I am your personal wardrobe consultant, and you have a date tonight, right?”

“And I guess I have an upscale new wardrobe in the closet.”

“Which will do us no good tonight,” she said. “I rather think Mark likes you just the way you are.” With that she turned back to the closet. “Something cheery and Christmassy, maybe.” She pulled out my warmest red sweater.

I picked up my phone and checked the time—just a little before five. And four messages. There was one from Mark that said, “Six?” Followed by the address. I did the math, decided I should have plenty of time, and returned his text. I got a few emojis back.

I laughed. “I swear, outside that man might be some high-powered FBI accountant, but on the inside, he’s a big kid.”

Cathy sat down on the foot of the bed. “I think that’s just your type.”

“Do you need to get back downstairs?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Parker left work early, and he’s covering the shop while I’m up here. Dad’s actually home, too, but just. He’s sleeping already.”

Cathy helped me get ready, doing her best to hide the gash in my cheek under a good foundation, while I recounted the rest of the story. I even let her fix my hair with her Bibbidi Bobbidi-Goo.

“I guess we’ll have to take Lori up on her fundraising ideas,” Cathy said.

“It’ll happen, though,” I said. “I have all the faith in the world that you’ll make it work.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry I kept pushing you back in the Browning direction. You never wanted to be involved with him.”

“He was charming at times,” I said. “I’d thought he wanted a nice girl his parents would approve of. Now I’m beginning to wonder if it was a way to buy more respect. Or even to keep tabs on the police investigation. It was pretty clear at the end there that he had no real feelings for me.” I shivered, thinking of his cold grasp.

She gave me a tight, rocking hug. “I’m glad you and Dad are both okay.”