Chapter 11

 

As full of grief as age; wretched in both

 

 

Nicolo’s head jerked upward. He shut off the light on his cellphone and motioned to her. “Get away from the window, and let’s move.”

“I don’t know how long he’s been here, Nicolo.”

“Okay,” he said calmly, still moving toward the door. “Which way does he usually take to get upstairs?”

Delia hurried to Nicolo’s side and stood behind him at the door. “I don’t know. Both ways, I guess. I’ve seen him use the fire escape.”

Nicolo turned the knob and cracked the door open. The hallway light bled into the room, causing his hair to turn gold. “Come on,” he said, opening the door farther and slipping into the hallway.

Delia skipped out behind him—more like bound out like a bawling calf after its mother.

Nicolo took her arm and led the way down the hall toward the half-staircase to Delia’s apartment. They were nearly there.

The fire escape door knob wrenched hard as though someone pulled on it but missed.

Nicolo placed the knife out of sight just above them on the edge of the staircase and then removed the blue gloves, quickly shoving them into his pocket. His hand tightened on Delia’s wrist, and he pulled her around to face him.

Wide-eyed, she stared at him.

“We’re talking, that’s all,” he whispered.

The fire door opened.

Nicolo turned halfway around.

Lightning flashed outside. Eddie stood silhouetted in the doorway at the end of the hallway, his broad frame black against the gray sky. He still had his keys in his hand. His brown eyes lifted—and then he stopped like he’d hit a wall.

Nicolo stepped in front of Delia and spread his feet. He bent his elbows and kept his hands in front of him.

He is all police officer now.

Eddie tossed his keys lightly, one, two, three times, and then he shot a glance toward his door.

Delia held her breath.

“Edmund,” Nicolo said, nodding once.

Eddie dipped his head.

Thomi tried to see past Eddie’s shoulders. Delia saw her hair swinging beyond Eddie’s arm. “Can we go inside? I’m getting wet.”

“Just a minute, dear,” Eddie told her. He gazed at Nicolo again. “Detective.” He leaned just a hair to the left. “Is that Delia behind you?” he asked, lifting his voice.

Thomi stopped moving. She seemed to have frozen.

Nicolo nodded. “That’s right. We’ve just come from Shakespeare Gardens. We went to see a play there tonight. Have you ever been to Shakespeare Gardens, Mr. Chester?”

Eddie didn’t blink. “No. Never heard of it.”

“You should go sometime,” Nicolo told him. “It’s an interesting place. New things are added all the time.”

Eddie tossed his keys once more. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, half-turning and allowing Thomi to come into the hallway. “We’ll say goodnight.”

Thomi was still dressed in her black dress and heels but also wore a gray fur coat over them. Her pale-colored eyes gazed at Nicolo first, but then they landed on Delia. She blinked once and turned away.

She acts as though she doesn’t even know me.

Once Eddie closed his door, he locked it loudly.

Nicolo gazed at Delia. “Go upstairs and lock your door.”

Her heart raced, but she forced her fear into the background. “Okay.”

“You’re all right,” he told her, retaking her arm. “I’ll sit outside in the Jeep for a while and keep an eye on things.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Delia returned to her apartment on wobbly knees. Once she’d shut and locked the door, she hurried to the fire escape door and locked it, too. Then she watched the parking lot from the kitchen window.

Clawdius jumped for the sill. He was cone-less again. He’d figured out how to remove it. Delia petted him and continued to peer at the cars below.

A figure moved toward the Mustang.

Eddie. Where’s he going?

But then another figure came off the porch and moved toward the Jeep in the rain. From the way Nicolo’s head was turned, he was keeping his eyes on Eddie too.

 The rain was steady now. Flashes of light filled the sky.

Nicolo pulled open the driver’s door on the Jeep and slid inside. He didn’t start the vehicle.

Neither had Eddie.

Did Eddie guess that we were in his apartment? It seemed like it, the way his eyes gazed at us and then the door.

A chill ran across Delia’s shoulders.

For some reason, she sensed the time was running away from her. Delia felt it all the way down into her bones.

Time is fading away…

Suddenly, the Mustang’s taillights came on. The car reversed out of the parking spot and then slowly moved out of the driveway.

Nicolo didn’t start the Jeep. Did he think Eddie might try to trap him if he followed?

No, Nicolo was too smart to fall prey to Eddie Chester.

Did Thomi go back to her apartment?

For the first time in a while, Delia decided not to go have a look.

I’ll stay right here, thank you.

It was after eleven when she finally fell asleep on the loveseat.

 

* * *

When Delia woke the following day, she had a crick in her neck, and her left leg was asleep.

At least I’m alive.

Mornings were always her best time. It was then that she saw the potential of the day. At night, all Delia did was reflect on what had happened during the day.

And a lot happened yesterday.

With that thought, she hobbled across the room on her dead leg and stared out into the parking lot. It was still dark, but the streetlights on Proquinty shone into the gravel.

Eddie’s Mustang was still missing.

But so was Nicolo’s Jeep. How long had he stayed in the parking lot last night? Had he gotten any sleep?

He’s probably just as sore as I am.

Delia hurriedly showered and then dressed quickly. She didn’t want to get outside and run into Eddy.

The air had turned even colder with the overnight rain. It was in the twenties and ice stuck to Freddy’s windshield.

 Delia drove slowly to work, watching for careening Mustangs or heat-seeking missiles coming at her vehicle.

Nothing happened. All was quiet.

Still, Delia parked in the customer parking lot. It was worth fifty-five dollars to not hike through the alleyways of Bloomfield Hatch.

Becca came in at six and handed Delia the keys to the van. “We left what remained of the cake with the family. We did bring back the molds and the tools, though. They’re still in the van.”

“That’s great,” Delia told her. They stood near the walk-in. “I’m sorry I left you last night.”

“It’s okay. Ty was a great help.”

 “Oh, was he?” Delia asked with a sly tone.

Becca glanced away, but not before Delia saw the girl’s cheeks turn pink-ish. “He’s nice,” she said, waving her hand slightly as though she was dusting a table with flour.

“You like bad boys.”

Her blue eyes lifted. “Ty is so cute. And that accent,” she said and covered her heart.

Delia smiled. “He is cute, and he’s close to your age. Maybe you should ask him out.”

“I don’t know,” she said in a thin high voice, and then she pulled a canister of flour off the shelf. “But let’s get to the important news. The Kents.”

Delia leaned on the table and twisted her mouth in distaste. “That wasn’t pretty. They were shot in the head. Oh, I don’t know, but maybe. Their bodies were just piled in the bushes and left there. It’s so weird. I never cared for either of them, but knowing that they died … well, it just makes me sad.”

“There’s a lot of it going around, Delia. Are you sure you’re safe?”

That’s when Delia filled her in on all that happened after she arrived home.

Bogart came into the backroom to listen as well.

“Wow,” Becca said. As they talked, she’d mixed the bread ingredients and now kneaded a large mass of dough on the table. “So, is Detective Montague considering Eddie a suspect now instead of Thomi?”

“I don’t know,” Delia said. “He just took some evidence with him and sat outside my apartment building most of the night.”

“Well, he’s so getting a t-shirt now,” Bogart said, loading a cart with the trays of cookies Delia made earlier. “What size should I buy, “Fabulous, or Extra Fabulous?”

“Extra, extra,” Delia said and took one of the cookies for herself. “Do you two want to go out to the Well-Crafted Beer Garden after work this evening?”

“I can’t,” Bogart said. “I went out with you last night. I need to do something different. I’m just that kind of gay.”

Delia said, “Okay.” Really emphatically was how she stated it because Bogart was too easily nauseated. She needed someone brave by her side. “Come with me, Becca.”

“Sure,” Becca said, her blue eyes narrowing. “What’s the purpose?”

“I don’t know. But Eddie had a matchbook in his apartment with the name on it.” She gazed at the fluorescent light on the ceiling. “I’ve heard of the place before, but I can’t remember where.”

Becca wrapped the bread dough in plastic and placed it in a proving drawer. “Should we ask Ty?”

Oh brother.

“Sure, why not? He’s probably not too sick of my company,” Delia said, looking straight at Bogart.

Bogart raised his brows. “Well, Ty doesn’t know how fast you drove his motorcycle last night, does he? Maybe I’ll let him know.”

Delia waved her hand and shook her head at the same time. “There’s no need to do that. Why don’t you go have fun tonight? Maybe call one of those guys you met at the speed-dating thingy and see a movie together?”

“I don’t have any money to go out,” he confided, his eyes round and blinking.

“My treat,” Delia told him. “But if I find out that you rat me out to Ty, I’ll garnish your wages for the price of two movie tickets and popcorn.”

“Wow,” he said, moving the cart toward the door. “So harsh.”

 

***

Delia took a break at ten-thirty and walked the back alley toward the employee parking lot and the King Lears van. She wanted to collect the storage bin that held all of the molds and tools she’d used for Juliet’s wedding cake.

It’s so cold!

White clouds covered the sky. The sun hadn’t made much of an appearance so far. Crows were flying low and sitting in the branches of the holly trees.

I should’ve brought my mittens!

She opened the back of the van and dragged the clear plastic storage box toward her.

“No, you don’t, no, you don’t,” a woman said, not too far away from the van.

Delia leaned back a little to try and see who it was that spoke. 

Thomi was there.

What in the world …?

Her friend stood three cars away from the van, and she spoke to … Desdemona?

Delia’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

Thomi turned, her face swinging toward the northern side of the car park.

Delia ducked and then crawled into the van—over the plastic bin—and caught herself on the wooden bench. She scrambled back around and stared through the crack in the door.

Thomi faced Desdemona again. She was wearing that oversized gray fur coat of hers again. Eddie probably gave it to her. 

It’s hideous.

Thomi said, “You didn’t want him then, and now he doesn’t want you. You made your choice years ago.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Desdemona said, pointing her red taloned finger in Thomi’s face. “And you have nothing to do with this. Why are you here?” Her electrical-tape black brows were furious and bunched together as if they’d been wound around a lumpy telephone cord. 

“You have a choice now. Do the right thing.”

Delia leaned farther, trying to see Thomi. But the girl had walked away.

Desdemona still stood there, though, watching Thomi move toward the orange Aztec.

What was this about? How do Thomi and old Desde know each other? Was the older woman one of Thomi’s former clients? Or maybe Desdemona is a current client. 

Thomi knew lots of people through her social work, and even though she might’ve already given notice, she probably still worked for Helping Hearts until mid-November sometime. 

Delia watched Desdemona walk back beside the holly trees and toward the water fountain in the center of the courtyard. Then she crawled across the back again and watched Thomi pulled the Aztec back onto the service road and out of sight. 

 

* * *

King Lears had four customers inside. Two were in line. The other two sat at a café table near the arched window. Delia stood next to Ty as he packed a brown box with lunch sacks. Ty said, “A beer garden? Tonight?”

Becca came to stand next to Delia. “Come with us,” she said.

“We’ll just check it out like we did the Broadway Farmacy,” Delia told him. “But we pay this time.”

“I can’t,” Ty said.

Becca’s body seemed to slouch a little. “Why not?”

“Because,” he said, placing another sack into the box. “Detective Montague wants me to go buy drugs from Chu Hua.”

Delia perked up, even if Becca didn’t. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Seriously.”

“All right, that’s good. That’s very good. I think Nicolo finally believes me. I mean, he seemed to last night as well, but …”

“Last night?” Ty asked, setting the box on a chair.

“We broke into a couple of places together. You know, like you and Abram and Juliet do.”

“Right,” Ty said, continuing to pack the box but looking at Becca now. “Maybe we can go again another night.”

And that was Delia’s cue to step away from the conversation.

 

* * *

The Well-Crafted Beer Garden was an outside restaurant and pub near Buffalo. There was a two-story boxy-looking building with a kitchen and a craft brewery, but the customers drank and ate at picnic tables on top of a mulch floor. String bulbs crisscrossed overhead. At the far end of the area, three men played guitar and sang. There was even a dance floor.

There were many people at six o’clock, and Becca and Delia needed to wait ten minutes for a place near the dance floor. Not too far from the table was a fire escape with vines growing up the railings.

“Oh, hey,” the waiter said, approaching the table.

Delia glanced up.

It was Zach Webber, her new neighbor. That’s where she’d heard the name Well-Crafted. Zach worked there. What had he said, that he didn’t know Eddie well but knew him from here? Did Eddie work here too? Does he own the place?

“Hey,” Delia said. “I forgot you work here.” She waved at Becca. “This is my co-worker, Becca Langston.”

“Hello,” he said, wearing a grin on his large face. “You picked the right table. I’ll be your waiter tonight. May I suggest the Sweet Josie? And a side of onion rings?” He was gazing at Becca when he said it.

“It’s like you know me,” Becca said. “I love onion rings.”

He turned his green eyes on Delia. “What about you?”

“Um, I don’t really like beer.”

Zach had very straight and white teeth. Tonight his blonde-blonde hair looked a little bushy—as though he’d ridden his bike all the way from the apartment to Buffalo. “More of an ice cream girl?”

How does he know…?

She kept her voice light. “Have you been digging through my trash?”

Zach laughed. It sounded like a series of hiccups. “You’re carrying a Cheery Cherry Ice Cream bag home every evening, Delia. It’s not much of a mystery that you like ice cream.”

“I guess not,” she said, letting out a small laugh. “I’ll just have a slice of pizza and a ginger ale.”

“Ale, it is,” he said, spinning around and walking away.

Delia eyed Becca. “I’ve only seen Zach once. How does he know I carry home ice cream every night?”

“Does his apartment have windows?”

She blinked at the girl. “Um, yes.”

“That’s how he knows.”

“All of his windows face the other parking lot from where I park.”

Becca’s face fell. “Oh.”

Delia glanced at the band and then back across the restaurant. There was no sign of Eddie.

A strong breeze moved the bulbs overhead, and it was cold, but the restaurant had tall heaters permanently attached to the ground in concrete. All of them were on, and the grill lights radiated heat onto the customers.

Delia removed her puffy jacket and laid it on the bench beside her, along with her purse. She’d changed into faded jeans, sturdy white tennis shoes, and a long grey sweatshirt.

Becca had dressed casually, too, in jeans and a black blouse. She watched the band while Delia continued to scan the crowd in the opposite direction.

 Oh, hey.

There was someone she recognized across the pub, a couple of picnic tables away. The man tried to hide his identity by wearing a cowboy hat over his blonde hair. The blue-checked shirt, wide leather belt, and boots made him look like he’d come into town from one of the local farms.

“Don’t turn around,” Delia said. “Nicolo Montague is here.”

Becca started to turn.

“Tut, tut, tut, I said don’t turn around.”

“Right, sorry. Why is Nicolo here?”

“Same reason we are. He’s trying to catch Eddie doing something wrong.”

Becca shook her head. “I don’t really know how you put clues together, Delia. I see the same things you do—or hear about the things you do—but I don’t come to the same conclusions. Why are we here?”

“I told you Nicolo found a matchbook advertising Well-Crafted.” In the center of the table was a small galvanized bucket with the same matchbooks inside. Delia reached for one and turned it over in her hand. “Usually, I just stumble upon things, Becca. I’m not a clever private eye. When I follow clues, I usually see something else.” She turned the matchbook over and studied the back of it. “The matchbook was a clue. And now blonde Zach knows I bring ice cream home every night.” She leaned her ribs hard against the picnic table. “Is he watching me for some reason?”

“Maybe he thinks you’re pretty.”

“I think he and his wife are newly married. They’re so young.”

The girl shrugged. “He could still …”

“He’s a part of Eddie’s gang.” Setting the matches aside, she ran one of her thumbnails in the groove of the wood table. “He and Jasmine acted so oddly when I mentioned Thomi and Eddie the other day. They acted as though they didn’t like him.”

“That’s good, right?”

“But they still have a connection to him, and that’s another clue.” She leaned back a little because Zach was at the table and set their drinks in front of them. He placed a basket of onion rings in front of Becca. “I’ll be right back with your pizza.”

Delia watched him for a moment, maneuvering through the people, cutting through a path toward a side door. “He’s going the wrong way.”

Becca already had an onion ring in her mouth, mid-chomp. “Huh?”

“He’s not going to the kitchen.” She gazed at Becca again. “The kitchen is in the front of the building. Zach said he’d be right back with my pizza, but he cut to another part of the building.” Delia kept her eyes on him. “Where are you going, Mr. Zebber?”

“Who’s Zebber?”

“I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

Delia stood and crossed the mulch-covered floor and headed to the spot where Zach disappeared.

She stood in front of the door for a second. It was flat and metal with no markings on it.

It could be a restroom. And, if not, the door might easily be mistaken for a bathroom. So if, oops, I take a wrong turn, then no one can accuse me of spying and throw me out of the restaurant.

It could happen that way.

She tugged on the door’s handset with the little lever on top, but it didn’t budge.

How is it locked? Zach went right through … unless he locked it after himself. Why would he do that? To have a private conversation with Eddie, perhaps?

Delia glanced to the left and then walked in that direction. She kept her eyes ahead of her. If Nicolo was undercover, she didn’t want to blow his disguise, so she headed to the front of the building and stepped through a glassed entryway.

The smell of earth and pine hit hard once inside the building. She smelled the hops outside, too, but the scent was strongest here. The kitchen area was to her left and in front of her was a small store offering t-shirts and mugs with the restaurant’s name on them.

Delia walked to the back of the area and found the ladies’ room on the right side of a long hall that led to, perhaps, the brewery.

She skipped the ladies’ room and slipped down the passageway. People shouted at one another off to Delia’s left side. Utensils and cookery banged and clanged behind the wall as she skulked along.

There came a break in the wall with another door.

Delia slowed and went into a crouch to pass beneath the little window. She didn’t see the cowboy standing in the cavity of the wall.

“What are you doing in here?”

Chills ran down Delia’s arm. She jumped forward and spun around—like an ice skater—but not as graceful. She caught the bone on the side of her arm on the wall.

Then she played it casual. “Just looking for the …”

Nicolo tilted his head. There was a fine line between his dark brows.

“… bad guys,” Delia finished, whispering. “What are you doing here?” She gazed up and down the hall once more.

“Drinking beer,” he said, keeping his eyes on her. Upon closer inspection of his hat, it looked pretty cheap, as though he’d picked it up at a dollar store before coming to the beer garden. “You don’t seem the type to wear a Stetson, Nicolo.”

“No? I thought I was pulling it off all right.”

Fact: You could put on women’s Lederhosen and pull it off.

She confided, “I think Eddie owns this place.”

Nicolo leaned toward her and confided, “I know he owns this place. I looked it up while I was at work.”

“Oh, see,” she said, her voice trailing upward. “We’re both doing fine work here. You finally think Eddie’s the bad guy?”

He hadn’t gone back into his original posture and still leaned close to Delia. “I don’t like him.”

“Join the club. By the way, we’ve ordered you a Murder Club t-shirt. It should be in by the end of the week.”

 He almost smiled. Almost. “Go back to your table, and I’ll have a look around.”

“Why can’t I have a look around?”

“Because I’m a police officer, and I told you to go back to your table and eat your pizza.” Nicolo nodded as he said it like he was hammering the words in place as he spoke them.

“How do you know I ordered pizza?”

He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

Delia frowned.

Do I look like someone who eats a lot of pizza? 

“Go,” he growled.

Delia did. She walked back down the hallway fast and through the gift shop and out the doors.

It seemed even more crowded in the restaurant area. Every seat was filled, and the band’s microphone had been turned louder. The lead singer had a gravelly voice and sang a slow, You Should Probably Leave.

Delia walked farther along the side of the building until she was almost to the fire escape stairs.

That’s when a hand touched her arm.

She turned.

Eddie stood next to her. His dark eyes drilled into hers. “Hi, Delia.” His fingers tightened on her arm. “Dance with me?”

Her heart pounded so hard that it hurt her ribcage. “I- I don’t … I don’t dance.”

Eddie pulled her forcibly toward the dance floor. Once there, he spun around and pulled her into his arms.

She slammed into the front of him. Leaning away, she repeated, “I don’t dance, Eddie!”

He put his cheek against hers. “You don’t have to dance. I just want you to listen.”