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Bickel paled drastically, the purple knot on his brow the only color in his mottled face. “The inventory charts are missing?” He dropped heavily into his chair. “Why would somebody steal those?”
“A better question would be, why would somebody kill for them,” Flo told him. “Because that seems to be exactly what happened.”
Bickel stared at the floor for a long moment, his mouth hanging open. He appeared to be considering her question. Flo figured the mouth needed to be open for the brain to work. Finally, he shook his head, which was covered in a sheen of perspiration. “This is crazy.”
“Mr. Bickel, what kind of inventory was Betty charting?”
“Just normal stuff. Boxes of coffee, cleaning supplies and cough drops.” He shrugged. “Nothing anybody would kill over. We keep track of the time it takes for a shipment to be delivered from the time it hits the warehouse floor. You know, efficiency type stuff.”
“You said the owner had a lot of enemies. Could he have been shorting customers merchandise and selling it himself?”
“That would be nuts! He’d never get away with it.”
“Is it possible there was something in the warehouse that shouldn’t have been there?”
“Like what?”
Flo shrugged. “I don’t know. Guns, drugs, explosives...”
The pallor of his skin turned even chalkier. Flo hadn’t thought it possible. “Explosives...?” His voice cracked on the word and he seemed to have trouble swallowing. “Who are you, lady?”
She bit her lip on the urge to tell him she was just a woman who read too many mysteries and thrillers. Instead she gave him an enigmatic smile. “Something’s going on, Mr. Bickel. You said it yourself, nobody would kill over coffee or cleaning supplies. But someone would kill over guns or explosives.”
“I think it’s crazy. But I’ll have the guys take a look in the warehouse when they get back from their runs.”
Flo shook her head. “I don’t advise you do that, sir. If there’s something in the warehouse that shouldn’t be, one of them might have been in on it.”
“That’s not possible.”
She arched a brow. “So, you think your boss was hefting crates around by himself?”
Bickel frowned. “Not likely.” He expelled air. “Okay, you talked me into it. I’ll go have a look myself.”
Flo stood up, nodding to Agnes. Her friend moved quickly to stand in front of the door, giving Bickel a smug smile when he glared up at her. “What’s going on?”
Flo joined him, her smile slightly friendlier. “I’m afraid we’ll have to come with you, Mr. Bickel.”
“Lady, who do you work for? Is it one of them ABC organizations with the government?”
Flo let her smile widen. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bickel. We can’t tell you that. Just know that your country appreciates your cooperation on this very important matter.”
He stared at her for a long moment and then nodded. “Okay. I don’t want any trouble with the government. I just got one thing to say. You folks must have really bad recruiting processes. You two are pretty long in the tooth to be special agents. If you know what I mean.”
Flo glared at him. “Mr. Bickel, don’t make me pull out my gun.”
~SC~
The warehouse smelled like gasoline and mouse droppings. It was only about a third full of merchandise, most of it shrink wrapped on pallets or piled high in boxes. The other end of the big building was covered in oil spots, a partially dismembered box truck sitting on blocks at the front.
Bickel glanced at Flo as they entered the place, jerking his head toward the right-hand side. “You two search over there. I’ll take the other side.”
“What are we looking for,” Agnes asked.
He punched bony shoulders towards his oversized ears. “You’ll know it when you see it. If it isn’t boring, it doesn’t belong here.”
They watched him saunter toward the other end of the building and then shared a look. “I’m on information overload,” Agnes said.
Flo grinned. “You heard the man. We’re looking for something that’s not boring.”
Agnes pointed toward the outside row. “I’ll start over here. You start over there and we’ll work our way in.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Flo headed toward the long line of metal shelves that made up the perimeter of the storage area. She quickly realized what Bickel had been talking about. Boxes upon boxes upon boxes of sweetener packets were piled up next to a seemingly never-ending supply of latex gloves. All sizes and colors. She wondered who in the world would need so many gloves. Then wrinkled her nose as an unpleasant thought occurred and moved on down the line. The next aisle held mostly paper products. Paper plates, napkins, paper towels, even boxes of plastic-ware and cardboard coffee cups. The very end proved slightly more interesting. That was a double row of hemorrhoid cream. “Alrighty then,” she murmured, hurrying on. Flo was halfway down the third aisle and up to her eyebrows in animal crackers when Agnes called out to her. “I’m coming,” she responded.”
The aisle where Agnes stood was three times the width of the others. There were grease spots on the floor, which told Flo there were usually mechanical things stored there. The front half of the aisle was clear and Agnes stood halfway down, her back to Flo and her hands on her broad hips. Whatever was stacked in the middle of the aisle was bigger than most of the things in that warehouse and less neatly piled. Agnes didn’t turn around as Flo approached. She stopped in front of a pile of something that was covered in a very large tarp.
Flo lifted one corner of the tarp and exposed a chain saw packaged in bright orange cardboard with shrink wrapping. “I’ll admit this is more interesting than the billion boxes of toothpicks I just perused, but I doubt Betty was killed over a bunch of chain saws.”
Agnes finally looked at Flo. Her wide face was pale and her eyes were wide with shock. “Adjust your gaze a little higher.”
Flo scanned upward, frowning at the tarp that covered the pile of saws. “I don’t see what...” Her words trailed away, choked off by shock as her gaze came to rest on the spot where Agnes had pulled the tarp away. Something that looked like a cannon peered through the opening, its huge, unblinking eye staring right at her.
Flo gulped. “Is that a cannon?”
Agnes reached over and grabbed the tarp, yanking it completely away. “Not quite. It’s worse.”
The massive metal contraption was olive drab colored, with tracks instead of tires and a massive turret that held an enormous gun on the front and a smaller one by the hatch. The letters “U.S.A” and a number were painted on the side of the turret in gold paint. “Good Lord. It’s a tank,” Flo breathed. “How is that possible?”
Agnes finally grinned. “Is that not boring enough for you?”
They stared at it for a long moment before a set of jaunty footsteps approached from around the next line of shelves. “I told you, ladies. There’s nothing here...” Bickel came around the shelves and skidded to a stop so fast he left slide marks on the dusty floor. “What the...?”
Flo lifted a brow. “I take it from your reaction that you didn’t have a tank listed in your inventory?”
His mouth hung open and his face paled as he stared up at the monstrous vehicle. The knot on his head was like a beacon against the chalky pallor of his skin. “I...”
“You?” Agnes asked, her brows lowering.
“I...”
“Mr. Bickel?” Flo inquired, with growing concern. “Are you okay?”
“Maybe he’s having a stroke,” Agnes offered helpfully.
“I...”
Flo walked over and stood beside him, one hand hanging in the air next to his shoulder, unsure. If he was choking she could pound him between the shoulder blades. But she didn’t think he’d appreciate it if she smacked him upside the head. “Mr. Bickel!”
“I...”
Agnes leaned down and looked into his stricken face, waving a hand before his glassy gaze. “Earth to Bickel.”
The man jerked suddenly and blinked, his mouth snapping shut. “What’s that doing here?”
The way he barked the question, Flo got the impression he was blaming them. “I think that’s a question for your people, Mr. Bickel. I can assure you Agnes and I didn’t carry it into the building in one of our pockets.”
He frowned but his gaze never left the tank. “I guess Carey must’a signed the paperwork for this.”
“The dead guy?” Agnes asked.
“The owner...or ex-owner I guess.” Bickel frowned as if it had just occurred to him that he was working at a place that had no owner. “I wonder who’ll get the place now that he’s gone?”
“That’s actually a great question,” Flo told him. She looked around at the half-filled warehouse. Between the goods stored there for delivery and the trucks, she figured the business had to be worth some money. Certainly, the tank alone was worth a good chunk of change. “Any ideas who might inherit the business?”
Bickel shook his head. “Carey didn’t talk much about family. I got the impression he didn’t have any. I guess there could be some distant relative somewhere who’d inherit.” He frowned at the thought.
“Okay. Then I guess you need to find that out. And Agnes and I will search his office to see if we can find out anything about this tank.”
He shook his head. “Not a chance.”
Agnes reached down and touched her leg, groaning loudly.
Bickel bared his teeth like a rabid dog. “Okay. I’ll ask around. But nothing leaves that office. You hear me? I’m sure the cops wouldn’t appreciate you messin’ up their crime scene.”
Flo gave him a tight smile. “You forget, Mr. Bickel. We are the cops.”
The man shook his head. “Well, I guess if Tom Selleck can pretend to still be a cop at his age, you two can do it too.” He gave a mean chuckle. “I suppose you knitted yourself a gun?”
Flo let anger flash through her gaze. “Why knit a gun when the knitting needle works perfectly well as a deadly weapon?” She turned to Agnes. “I prefer stabbing in through the sinuses. How about you?”
“Through the ear works well,” Agnes fixed him with a deadly glare. “Right into the brain.”
They left Bickel gulping like a fish and headed for the trailer across the lot.