Chapter Eleven
As he’d promised, Pete called at six thirty in the morning and we agreed to join the breakfast club gang at the Friendly Tavern. Good choice. There we could firm up plans for my proposed talk with Dolores Duncan and at the same time see if the regulars at the bar had come up with any new information about poor Pat or if they had any thoughts on where the elusive Tommy LaGrange might be. I got there first, just in time to see Pete’s unmarked car pull up.
I recognized a few familiar faces among the crowd. We ordered coffee and doughnuts—cinnamon-sugar for me and vanilla frosted raisin for Pete. Bartender Leo took our orders. “So they found old Pat dead after all, huh? Pills, I heard. That’s bull. He was too much of a health nut to do that crap.” He leaned across the bar and spoke softly. “Who do you think offed him?”
I had no answer to that one and of course Pete didn’t either. I shrugged. “No clue. What do you think?”
“We all think it’s that manager of his. Tommy. Have you talked to him?” The question was directed to Pete.
“No.” Serious cop voice.
Leo pressed on. “We heard he’s skipped town. Quit his job and took off. Nobody’s seen his car around lately.”
I knew that the Salem police were looking for that car too, but Pete didn’t say anything, so I did. “Any idea where he went?”
The man on my right spoke up. “We’ve got a pool going on that. Two bucks will get you in. I say the smart money is on Canada.”
Pete remained silent. I fished two ones from my purse. “Belize,” I said, suddenly confident that I was right. “That’s where Dolores was planning to meet Pat.”
“Makes sense,” the man beside Pete remarked, tossing two dollars onto the bar. “I’ll take a piece of that.”
Pete wore his raised eyebrow cop face, but didn’t comment. I didn’t feel that I’d betrayed any of my “off the record” promises. Dolores had freely shared that she was buying clothes to wear in Belize. If Tommy had made the arrangements for the blind trust, it stood to reason that he probably made the travel arrangements too—and I didn’t doubt for one second that the grieving Mrs. Duncan knew all about them. I could hardly wait to finish my doughnut and get right over to the Pretty Party and start some serious snooping.
Pete must have sensed my urgency. “Ready to go to work?” he asked, reaching for the check.
“Yep. I’ll get the tip.” I put a few more bills on the counter. “I’ll walk downtown to pick up those cinnamon buns.” We said goodbye to the assembled group and headed out onto Derby Street.
“I think you gave them something to think about.” Pete unlocked his door. “Good job. They may find Tommy before we do. They have more manpower to spare.”
“Between you, me and the Breakfast Club,” I said, “along with a very wise cat and a tarot card reader—we’ll figure this out.”
A slight noncop eye roll and a “we’ll see” was his response. I waved goodbye and crossed the street, intending to check in with Rhonda so that my cinnamon bun run would be “on the clock” and the snooping would be included.
I rode Old Clunky up to the second floor. Rhonda was ready with questions. “How did you like Scottie’s ambush of the widow? Even Doan thought it was a bit much.”
“Awful,” I agreed, checking the whiteboard. “I don’t see anything here for me. I’m going to run out for some break room snacks. I’ll be back ASAP. Need anything downtown?”
“If you have time, you might check in with Chris Rich and see how the space suit sale is going. Doan is thinking of doing a follow-up and you might get the assignment since Scottie is kind of on the you-know-what list.”
“Thanks. I’ll definitely make time for that. It is a funny story, isn’t it? I’ve already seen quite a few astronauts wandering around.”
“Me too,” she said. “In various sizes. And how about the creepy one that showed up in front of your place?”
Word hadn’t reached the general public yet that the creepy astronaut was Pat Duncan and I wasn’t about to comment on it. “Yeah, how about that?” I said. “Well, I’m off on a cinnamon bun run and I’ll visit Chris Rich too.”
Salem’s always a good town for walking and the weather was perfect for it too. Anyway, I needed some exercise to work off that morning doughnut and the previous night’s fried clams and Girl Scout Cookies, so I quickened my pace on the uphill sprint to the beginning of the pedestrian mall at the head of Essex Street. Once again, I recognized the good smells coming from the bakery even before the pink and white storefront was in sight. It would be a truly sad day in Salem if the place closed its doors forever.
Only a little bit out of breath, I peeked into the window of the bakery before approaching the door, hoping I’d see Dolores Duncan inside. She was there at the front counter, looking as fresh and friendly as she always had—a far cry from the distraught woman she’d appeared to be on the previous night’s late news. I pushed the door open and approached the glass case where both the buns and the triple-layer cupcakes were displayed.
“Good morning, Lee,” Dolores said. “I hope Buck’s cake was satisfactory?”
“It was perfect, as always,” I told her. “How are you feeling today?”
“I’m doing well.” She smiled, just a tad too broadly. “Thank you for asking.”
“Dolores, could you spare a minute to talk to me?” I motioned toward the kitchen door. “It may be important.”
“Of course. Is something wrong?” She spoke softly then to one of the pink-smocked women and lifted the hinged counter so that I could enter. I followed her through the windowed door, past more pink-smocked, hair-netted workers into a small cubicle—even smaller than my tiny office. I sat opposite her across a tiny desk in one of the two chairs in the room. “Is something wrong?” she asked again. “Is it about my husband?”
“It’s about Tommy,” I said, not bothering with any snooping preliminaries. “It’s important. Do you know where he is?”
“Is Tommy all right? Has something happened to Tommy too?” She put both hands to her face. Eyes closed.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Did Tommy go to Belize? To the vacation house you and Pat had planned for?”
The blue eyes opened wide. “Yes. That’s where he said he was going. But I’ve called and called and he doesn’t answer.”
“He didn’t take his phone with him,” I told her as gently as I could. “The police have checked. That phone is still in his apartment.”
She dropped her hands to her lap. “Oh, that phone. I know. He has a new number now, but he isn’t answering calls or texts. I’m worried. What if he’s . . . ? What if something is wrong with him?”
I slid into full Nany Drew snoop mode. “So, you’re worried about him too,” I said. “I have a friend who knows a special way to track phones by their numbers. He could tell us exactly where Tommy’s phone is. Then you could find out if he’s safe. If you’ll give me that number I’ll call my friend right away.”
“That would be so helpful, Lee. Here. I’ll write it down for you.” She scribbled on a pink sticky note and handed it to me. “Can you call your friend now?”
“Absolutely,” I said, calling Pete’s number as I spoke, trying to sound impersonal and businesslike. “Hello,” I said as soon as he answered. “This is Lee Barrett. If I text you a phone number, can you tell me where the phone is? I’m asking for a friend. You can? Thank you so much. I’ll send it right along.”
“Listen, Lee.” Pete spoke urgently. “One more thing. Chief Whaley’s message about calling with information about Pat is paying off. Apparently Pat had a high-stakes poker game going on for a couple of days in that cabin. Two anonymous callers claim they were there when somebody barged in and broke up the game. We’ll talk later.”
“I hope your friend can find Tommy,” Dolores whispered as I texted the number to Pete. “I really need him back here to help me run things. Between Tommy and Pat, I never had to worry about the business end of things. I just supervised most of the baking and made sure everything looked clean and pretty.”
“That’s quite a lot,” I told her. “Nobody can be expected to do everything. I understand how much you must miss your husband.”
“So much,” she said. “We had such wonderful plans.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about it yet, but we are quite rich. Pat won a lot of money on a lottery ticket. He was going to stop gambling and pay all the bills we owe and take me on my dream vacation and we’d never have to work anymore if we didn’t want to.” Her voice broke. “It could have been perfect. The three of us, Pat and Tommy and I—we’d share the money equally. Tommy fixed it up so the money was safe in a bank far away. But then Pat took his two million out, put on that silly costume and disappeared.”
I saw the beginning of tears in the blue eyes. “Pat sent me a lot of money to pay bills, but then Tommy found out that Pat was still gambling. He was in that old summer camp having a poker game. High stakes poker, Tommy called it.” Tears spilled over. “Pat had already lost half a million dollars of our money. Tommy was furious. He said he’d put a stop to it.” She put her head down on the desk. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. With Pat and Tommy gone I have no one I can really talk to. I’m so worried about Tommy. What if something bad has happened to him too? What if . . . what if he did something bad?”
I didn’t know how to respond. Being a snoop can be an unpleasant burden. Pete needed information, but I felt bad about listening when she was at such a vulnerable point. I patted her shoulder and didn’t press her—with a fleeting thought of how Scott Palmer would close in on an opportunity like this. She looked up from the desk. “We need to find Tommy. He knows how everything runs here. He knows how to do everybody’s job. If he’ll come back I can take that vacation by myself. I know Pat wants me to.” She brushed away tears. “I’m so tired.”
I hardly dared to form the question. “Where will you go?”
“To Belize. We even got our passports and maps and everything. I hope your friend can find Tommy soon. I already bought some cute outfits.”
My phone buzzed. “Lee? He’s in a motel in Brownsville, Texas, close to the Gateway International Bridge. Looks like you’re right. He’s headed for Belize. And one more thing—forensics found one nice clear print of Tommy’s thumb on the bottom of that vitamin bottle in Pat’s medicine cabinet. Chief’s working on an arrest warrant.”
I snapped out of snooping mode. I’m no Scott Palmer. “Thank you,” I told Pete, and hung up.
“My friend has located Tommy in Texas,” I told Dolores. “He’s in trouble but he’s safe. Anytime you need a friend to talk to, I’m a phone call away. If you need any help in the bakery until all this mess gets straightened out, I know where we can find some volunteers.” I stood. “You stay strong. You’re going to be all right. I’ve got to go see a man about some Halloween costumes now.”
Her expression brightened. “Oh, the astronaut costumes. That was funny, wasn’t it? Yes. I’ll be okay. Sorry to burden you with my problems.”
“Anytime,” I said, meaning it. “Anytime.” I picked up my cinnamon rolls and started down Essex Street to Christopher’s Castle to arrange for my assigned interview with Chris. I called Pete back.
“Dolores knows about the poker game. She says Tommy broke it up.”
“Remember the callers I told you about?” Cop voice for sure. “We located one of them. He didn’t come forward because he didn’t want his wife to know about the game. They knew all about the lottery money. Pat had already gambled away about half a million of it. He says a guy showed up at the door and yelled at Pat—swore at him about gambling everything away. He told the card players to take their winnings and get out, that he was there to help his friend straighten out his life.”
I interrupted. “So did he tell you who broke it up? Was it Tommy?”
“Yes, Nancy Drew. It was Tommy for sure. This man identified a picture. Anyway, while they were picking up their winnings and getting ready to leave the place, he heard Tommy telling Pat, very calmly, to go take a shower and shave and put on some clean clothes because he looked like hell after playing poker day and night. He said he was going to go in the kitchen and fix Pat some nice scrambled eggs and toast and orange juice and that he’d brought Pat his vitamin pills.”
Things moved fast after that. The fingerprints on the vitamin bottle were Tommy’s. The rest of the high rollers were rounded up and identified him. A judge swore out an arrest warrant for Thomas LaGrange. Brownsville authorities were alerted and Tommy was taken into custody within a few hours. Arrangements were hastily made for a team of deputies to fly from Beverly Airport to Brownsville. There, Tommy in an orange jumpsuit was turned over by Texas marshals and returned to Salem, where he immediately lawyered up. He was, despite the circumstances, a millionaire and his high-priced attorneys prepared to fight the murder charge.
Dolores’s third of the money, and as Pat’s widow, what was left of Pat’s third were deposited in an American bank. This made it possible for Dolores to settle with all of the creditors, and to make some needed repairs and improvements to the Pretty Party Bakery. She took a brief vacation in Belize after all and came home still grieving, but tanned, relaxed and ready to work.
Because we already had footage of Pat Duncan in an astronaut costume on Winter Street, the obvious tie-in to the murder made my interview with Chris Rich worthy of another late news appearance for me.
Thanks to his newfound wealth and the top-flight lawyers he’s hired, Tommy LaGrange still hasn’t come to trial for killing Pat Duncan, and the case may wind up in the court system for quite a while. Pete is as confident as ever that justice will prevail.
The Pretty Party Bakery has become a regular advertiser on WICH-TV. Cupcake the cat is sometimes a guest on Ranger Rob’s Rodeo and she often appears in the bakery’s commercials.
Pete and I decided not to go to Buffy Doan’s Halloween party as an astronaut and green alien girl after all. Buffy’s parties usually last well into the night and, unlike the real astronaut suits, Chris Rich’s marked-down versions did not have bathroom adjustments. Anyway, Buffy had announced that the theme of this year’s party would be “literary characters.” Pete went dressed as Sherlock Holmes, complete with deerstalker hat and curved calabash pipe. I, of course, with long, straight skirt, cloche hat and giant magnifying glass, went as vintage Nancy Drew.