| |
MY SUCCESS WITH MINDY Wills came at a price. Once Gabe was convinced his wife was not the Grammar Nazi, he decided to help us find out who the real culprit was. It began with a text an hour or so after I’d cleared Mindy from suspicion. Mite B Carl Tennant.
I had to think about who that was, but it finally came to me. Carl was a fussy old man who published an article on Allport’s proud history in the local newspaper every July. Though only the title changed from year to year, Carl was often referred to as “our eminent local historian.”
Thanks. I texted back. Will check. The idea of Tennant climbing a ladder to correct a billboard was ludicrous. Aches often plagued me after my more acrobatic Correction Events, and I was three decades younger than he.
I returned to tracking down our escaped embezzler. Bar owner Tommy had told me the likely target of Bowker’s nightly phone calls was a barmaid named Bonita. He didn’t think she’d been the guy’s girlfriend, but he admitted he wasn’t sure. Girlfriend or accomplice?
At four o’clock, when Bonita’s shift began, I went to Tommy’s to see what she’d say about the man we’d been hired to bring to justice.
Walking into a neighborhood bar where you aren’t a regular is an odd experience. The place goes quiet, everyone turns to take a look, and the newcomer is pigeonholed with a glance. When they turn back to their beers, it isn’t hard to imagine that comments will be made. Having spent much of my life on my own, I’m used to it.
Tommy’s had the usual assortment of afternoon drinkers, men who had nowhere better to be than on a bar stool. In one corner two kids played a game of pool, though I guessed they should be doing homework for sophomore English. Behind the bar was a woman who had to be Bonita. She wore a tight t-shirt, even tighter jeans, and a decidedly not-tight bun, held in place mostly by good intentions.
“Hey, hon,” she said in a voice that hinted at a lifelong smoking habit. “What can I do you for?”
Knowing better than to ask for information without an ante I said, “I’d like a Molson’s, please.”
We made the exchange, a beer and a tall glass for three times what it would have cost me at home. I added a generous tip, which caused her to meet my eye in a quick assessment. I wasn’t just passing through and thirsty.
I drank for a while, watching Bonita Shaffer interact with the customers and move about behind the bar. Though she was wire thin, I didn’t think she was a boozer or a drug abuser. Her eyes were alert, her pupils looked normal, and her complexion was clear. When a customer said he’d buy a round for the house if she’d kiss him, she replied that it would be a cold day in Hell, Michigan, when she kissed a mug as ugly as his. It sounded like a routine they’d done before, and the other patrons got a laugh out of it. I sensed Bonita was tolerant of men’s fantasies but a no-nonsense type when it came down to reality.
When my beer was half gone she stopped to ask if I’d like another. I nodded. When she returned with it I said, “I’m looking for someone who can tell me about Mattias Bowker.”
Her brows rose. “Matty doesn’t live in Allport anymore.”
“I know. He stole a great deal of money from his employer, and now he’s on the run.”
Her expression went from surprise to disgust. “That little creep.”
“You heard a different story.”
“For sure!” She folded her arms on her chest. “How come nobody knows about this?”
“Sanders is keeping it quiet until we have a chance to track Bowker down.” I put my business card down on the bar and turned it her way.
“Mr. Sanders does a lot of good around this town.” Bonita scanned the card as she spun a glass clean on the upright brushes in her bar sink. “I never trusted Matty much. Now I know why.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
She rinsed the glass in clear water and set it upside down on a rubber mat. “He’s been after me for a year, telling me I’d never have to work another day if I was his girlfriend.”
I chuckled. “He wanted to be your white knight.”
“Which I don’t need. I ain’t no maiden in distress, and I happen to like working here.” She shook her head and the bun slid from side to side. “I’d go nuts sitting around watching TV 24/7.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Matty used to say he’d prove he was the guy for me.”
“He wanted to buy his way into your life.”
“Into my jeans, you mean.” She rolled her eyes. “Why do guys think we’re waiting for them to rescue us from a miserable existence?”
Been there, lived that.
“Anyway, a week ago, maybe two now, Matty called here—No way would I ever give him my cell number. He said he left Allport to start a new life, and he wanted me to join him. I told him I wasn’t going anywhere, but he calls just about every night.” She blew her long bangs out of her eyes. “He’s persistent. I’ll give him that much.”
“Any idea where he is exactly?”
She shrugged. “He’s pretty vague about that.” Her mouth twisted. “I should have known something was up. He keeps asking what people here are saying about him.”
“He wants to know if they’ve figured out what he did yet. It was just luck that one of the other employees spotted the missing money right after Bowker left to ‘pursue new opportunities.’”
Bonita clicked her tongue. “I thought he was hoping somebody back here missed him.”
“Do you think you could find out where Matty is now?”
She considered that. “He’s offered about a zillion times to send me a plane ticket.”
That was so easy it took me a second to assimilate. “Could you tell him you’ll meet him somewhere and let us know his location?”
Another shrug. “Sure.”
I laid a fifty-dollar bill on the bar next to my card. Bonita took the card and slid it into her apron pocket, but she pushed the fifty back to me. “I won’t do it for money, but I won’t protect a thief neither.”
“I understand.”
“Most of my customers are good guys.” Taking up another glass, she washed and rinsed as she spoke. “I don’t mind being nice from four to closing, but my real friends are the people I choose to hang with, not the ones that hang around here.”
“When I saw he’s been calling here every night, I wondered—”
“If I was in on it,” she finished. “I thought Matty was homesick, and I was dumb enough to feel sorry for him.” She set the clean glass next to the first one. “If I knew he was a thief, I’d have told him to take a hike a long time ago.”
“You can help Sanders get his money back, at least most of it. Chief Neuencamp will arrange his arrest.”
A man at the other end of the bar waved a hand, and Bonita made a final comment before answering the summons. “If Matty wanted to impress me, he should have been honest. Good men don’t steal from their bosses, and good friends don’t lie to each other.”
I left feeling pleased about the case, but her words nagged at me. Good friends don’t lie to each other. Didn’t it go without saying that lovers and sisters should be included in that as well?
Rory looked tired when he showed up at my house around six. When I offered to drive to a restaurant he said, “Is it okay if we order in? I’ve had enough of people for a while.”
Faye would have conjured a home-cooked meal in nothing flat, but that’s not my forte. Instead I called the local pizza place and ordered Rory’s favorite, meat plus meat plus meat. While I did that, he chatted with Faye and Dale. Then we retreated to my apartment upstairs, where Rory flopped into a recliner with an air of repressed frustration. I let him unwind while I fetched us each a beer from my mini-fridge then went downstairs to get the pizza when the car pulled up out front. I returned to find him still staring into space. He didn’t react until I waved a plate with two large slices under his nose.
“Thanks. I missed lunch, but somebody brought in doughnuts.”
“So what shall we talk about?” I joked. “The dip in the stock market yesterday? Your plans for New Year’s Eve?”
He smiled. “You want to know about the investigation.”
“I do,” I confessed. “But if you don’t want to go over it again, that’s okay.”
“It might help to look at what I know with somebody who isn’t convinced the answers are obvious.”
“That’s what you’ve got for help?”
He grimaced. “Pretty much. Zinke thinks Deline’s death is the result of a robbery. Mabin’s theory is some local boys tried to teach him a lesson of some kind and it went too far.”
“Is either of those a possibility?”
“Not really. Deline was hit once on the back of the head, so I doubt anybody was just out to scare him. As far as the robbery theory goes, his wallet was gone, but I don’t see a thief killing a man for maybe fifty dollars, waiting four hours, then moving the body to an alley.”
“Still no idea where he was actually killed?”
“None. It’s driving the lab people nuts.” He took a bite of pizza, chewed, and swallowed. “The killer wrapped the body in a tarp for transport. They found a chunk of it, but it’s your typical discount store tarp, not unusual, not new, and not traceable.”
“And the alley itself?”
“Nothing there helps. No prints. No hairs, fibers, or whatnot. Nobody saw anything.”
I chose my next words carefully. “Somebody saw something.”
He chuckled. “You heard Clem Hiller’s story.”
I made my smile casual, at least I hoped I did. “People talk.”
“I talked to him as soon as Frannie told me about it. Apparently Clem saw a character they call the Grammar Nazi near the drop site.”
“Grammar Nazi?”
He raised his hands. “It’s what people around town came up with. I’ve had a couple of complaints, but most people consider the corrections a service to the community.”
I sipped at my beer. “I’d agree with that.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Marilyn Erickson, who runs the party store on Pine Street, would not. She was upset that her signs were defaced.”
“Defaced?”
“Again, not my term. She spelled convenience wrong, and someone added an i in every instance on the signage around the building. It was neatly done, but she...she was upset.” He took a drink of beer. “Do you know Ms. Erickson?”
“No.”
“Let’s just say she doesn’t like being wrong.”
Feeling defensive I argued, “Quietly fixing the mistake seems better to me than confronting her with it.”
“Maybe, but she’d press charges anyway.” He shook a finger at me, mocking her actions. ‘Do you know how pathetic it is that the whole Allport Police Department can’t locate one lone, sneaky criminal?’”
Sneaky? I guess I had to accept that.
Rory sighed. “We do have to take the Nazi more seriously now.”
“Because of Hiller’s sighting?”
“He’s not the most reliable witness, but the sign fixer might have seen something,” Rory shifted in his chair. “If so, we hope that person will find a way to share it with us.”
“What could he have seen in the dark?”
“If he went down the alley, which Clem says he did, he might have glimpsed the vehicle pulling away. Even the make of the car or a partial license plate would help a lot.”
“So you’re counting on this person’s sense of honor.”
“If there’s something to tell, yes, but I highly doubt the Grammar Nazi is the killer.” Rory raised a hand. “He murders a man, dumps him in an alley hours later, and then stops to change the letters on a sign?”
“Good point.”
Rory set the cool bottle against his forehead for a few seconds. “I wish the girlfriend of the deceased was as reasonable as you are. She insists the Grammar Nazi has to be the killer.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Come on, Barb. People aren’t logical when someone they care about dies in a shocking way.”
Reluctantly I agreed. “No theory too wild to contemplate.”
“Right. My guys tell me that Frances Habedank has always been...set on having her way and good at getting it. Losing Deline has put her a bit over the edge, though I don’t see her as grief-stricken. She’s just into the drama of it, though I wouldn’t say that to anyone but you.” His smile turned grim. “Zinke fell under her spell right away.”
“Great.” I pulled one leg up onto the couch. “Do you have any workable theories on why Deline was killed?”
“None that make sense.”
Recalling Retta’s conviction that Frannie was guilty I said, “He didn’t show up to meet his girlfriend. She went looking for him. If she found him doing something he shouldn’t and they fought—”
“We can’t find any evidence that they’d argued. People who saw her that night say she seemed fine.”
“He wasn’t sleeping around on her or anything?”
“Not that anyone knows about.”
“Then we move on to other possibilities.”
“Deline’s family is small. He only has a brother—”
“I met him.” Relieved to be able to segue into the topic, I told Rory about my visit from Frannie and Martin Deline. “They want us to locate the Grammar Nazi.”
“Really.”
I sighed. “As you said, Frannie thinks the grammar-correcting person killed her boyfriend. Martin doesn’t seem convinced that’s the case, but he wants his brother’s killer caught, so he wants to find out everything there is to learn about that night.”
“Interesting.”
“If we took their case, would we be in your way?”
His brow furrowed, and it took him a long time to answer. “If your client wants the vigilante found, go ahead with it. In the meantime I’m looking into enemies Deline had.”
“That’s good to hear.” I picked up my piece of pizza. “Because ‘Do it my way’ Retta already told Frannie we’d help her out.”
