Chapter 31

Dear Natasha,

My sister-in-law said she’s making a candy charcuterie board. Duh! Charcuterie means meat. I think it’s a major oxymoron. We have a bet riding on this, and you are calling the winner. Who is right?

I Speak French in French, Minnesota

 

Dear I Speak French,

I believe you may have an unfair advantage. You win, unless she’s planning to make a board with candied bacon.

Natasha

That evening, I walked Daisy after dark. I needed to get out of the house. Thoughts about Orson and his missing daughter, not to mention his murderer, swirled through my head. What had happened to Orson’s other daughter? Why hadn’t Myra told us about seeing Orson the night before his death? Who had broken into the antiques store and why? So many questions and yet, so few answers.

I tried to shake the thoughts out of my head and concentrate on the beauty of Old Town. But when I looked across the street, I realized that we had walked to Karl’s store. The windows in the showroom and upstairs above them were dark. We crossed the street and walked along the side of the building. The lot was bigger than I had imagined. An alley ran along the backs of the buildings. Daisy and I turned into the alley.

No light shone in the windows there, either. Karl must be out somewhere. A parking pad filled half of the yard in the back. The other half was being used for poorly tended raised bed gardens. A couple vines of beans grew up a discarded mattress spring. It was a unique use of the spring, but from the look of the garden, I wondered if the beans had grown from beans that had fallen in the soil the year before. Nothing appeared to be planned or taken care of. Carrots grew along the side of the raised bed. At the end closest to the alley, it appeared that some had already been dug up. There were no tomatoes or peppers at all. Maybe Karl only liked carrots and beans.

Overall, the garden was a bit shabby, but Karl got a pass on that from me. Weeds sprouted faster than I could keep up with them.

We walked back to the street and turned right on the next block, slowly making our way back to our own neighborhood. But two blocks later, Daisy stopped at the opening to an alley.

“Come on, Daisy.” She’d probably picked up the scent of a squirrel or another dog.

She paid no attention to me at all and tugged against the leash, which wasn’t like her. I turned on the light in my phone again. The beam didn’t go very far, but part of the way down the alley, I could see a lump of something. A bag of trash, maybe? It was too dark to tell from this distance. I acquiesced but held the leash firmly. She continued to tug in her eagerness to get close to the lump.

And then I heard something. I stopped and listened.

A moan. A deep, rumbling sound, like a person in pain.

We approached slowly. Daisy desperately wanted to move faster, but I was cautious.

In a few steps we were upon the thing I had thought was a trash bag. A man lay facedown on the rough alleyway. “Hello? Hello? Do you need help?”

I thought he might be drunk. But when I shone my light along his body, I saw his shirt and trousers had been torn and he was bleeding. He’d been in a fight. “Hi! Can you get up? Should I call an ambulance?”

He still didn’t respond. But I could see his chest moving with each breath, so he was definitely alive. I called 911 and asked for an ambulance.

While we waited, I kneeled next to him. “Hi,” I said softly. “Can you hear me?”

He grunted.

“An ambulance is on the way. Can you turn over or sit up? Is there something I can do to help you?”

He tried to move. His hands shook and his body twisted slightly. And then he screamed in pain.

I could hear sirens in the distance.

His shirtsleeve was torn, and his arm bled profusely. I ripped off a piece of the fabric and wrapped the part that bled, putting as much pressure on it as I could. And as I did so, I saw the shadow of a missing watch on his wrist.

“Jordan?”

I leaned down as far as I could and trained the light on him. His eyes were almost swollen shut. In spite of the swelling on his face, there was no doubt about his identity. It was definitely Jordan St. James.

“Who did this to you?”

He didn’t respond. As far as I could tell, he had passed out.

I was extremely relieved when the ambulance arrived. I told them what had happened and heard one of them say, “He took a good beating.”

They fastened him to a stretcher, and when they lifted it, something tumbled to the ground. They placed him in the ambulance, and it pulled away.

I trained my light on the stones and dirt of the alley. Two pieces of a concrete-type material didn’t fit. I picked them up. When I turned them over, I recognized the crude eyes, nose, and mouth Reba had drawn. I held them together where the piece had broken. They formed a roughly triangular shape just as she had described.

But why did it turn up here? Had someone thrown it out in the alley? Had Jordan had it in his possession? I didn’t know what to make of it.

I debated whether to call Stella. But in the end, I thought she would be upset if I knew about Jordan’s injuries and didn’t tell her. For all I knew, he might have the children the next day and she would wonder why he didn’t show up.

I phoned and told her what little I knew.

Stella was shocked. She thanked me for calling and hung up right away.

I didn’t mention the faux antiquity to her. She had enough on her mind. But there were two other things that I wondered about. What had happened to his watch and why did he have a cut on his arm earlier that day? Those questions plagued me as I went up to bed.

 

Stella phoned when I was eating breakfast. “Sophie, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back last night to thank you for letting me know about Jordan. It was very late when I came home and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s a mess. He has several broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a broken leg.” She paused for a moment and then said softly, “There may be a brain injury, too.”

“Did he say anything? Was he able to talk?”

“No. He’s been going in and out of consciousness, not making sense. They tell me that happens with brain injuries.”

“Stella, who would do that to Jordan?”

“I have no idea! I called Ronin right away. I’m scared to death the police will think that I did it! They already think I killed Joan and my father. Sophie, every time I turn around, I’m in deeper trouble. But I didn’t do any of these things.”

“I know you didn’t.” At least I didn’t think so. “I wish I could figure out what happened. Hey, did you ever talk to Jordan about antiquities?”

“Antiquities? Hah! As if Jordan would have had an interest in something like that. Dad had some at the store. Is that why you’re asking about them?”

“I found one where Jordan was lying. It’s a fake and I believe it was missing from the store.”

“You think Jordan took it?”

“Not necessarily. It could have been tossed there by someone else.”

“Well, for what little it’s worth, I don’t think Jordan knew beans about antiquities. He certainly didn’t know anything about antiques.”

“Are you going to see him this morning?”

“I’m on my way there now. I left the kids at the sitter’s house. Wolf made an appointment to see my mom. I promised I would be there with her. He makes her so nervous!”

Had Wolf discovered something that implicated Myra in Orson’s murder? “Good luck to your mom. If Jordan comes around, tell him I wish him a speedy recovery.”

“Will do! Bye, Sophie!”

She disconnected the call. I placed the pieces of the triangular head in freezer bags and packed them into a tote to take to the store. When the store opened, I called to be certain Reba was there. Ian assured me she was. This time I asked what they would like me to bring for them to drink. Armed with their beverage preferences, I set out for a local café to buy their drinks and some croissants. When I was approaching the café, Jordan’s car pulled into an empty parking space.

I did a double take. How could that be? It had to be someone else’s car. I stopped and watched as the driver stepped out. She looked up at me.

“Hi, Sophie!” Doreen Donahue approached me. “Are you buying me croissants?”

“Good morning!” The sun glinted on the car. I walked toward it and looked more closely. A tiny window in the front of the driver’s side had been broken out. I peered inside the best I could for anything that would identify it as Jordan’s car. A blue baby blanket lay on the back seat.

“Come on! I’m starving,” said Doreen.

Meanwhile I was thinking I should call Wong. “Just a second.” I walked to the back of the car. Sure enough, the license plate read SAINT.

“Where did you get this car?”

“The owner lets me drive it.”

How many women had Jordan been seeing? Had Orson put together the corkboard of women who were involved with Jordan? I shuddered to think about it. Poor Stella. I gazed at Doreen in ripped short shorts with a pink top that resembled a shaggy bathroom mat and was short enough to display her midriff when she moved. But Doreen was the princess of con artists. Two could play this game. I called her bluff. “So you’re a friend of Wolf’s?”

Her smile faded. She walked over to the car and kicked it. “I knew I should have burned the thing. That’s the only way to keep my nose clean. But I was planning to use it after I got a latte.” She said the last part in a whining Valley Girl tone as if begging my permission to continue using someone else’s car. “Where did you get the car?”

Doreen shrugged.

I followed her into the café and bought her a latte and a croissant. And then I texted Wong. I sat down at a table with her, just to keep her there until Wong arrived.

“C’mon, Doreen. Where did you steal the car?”