“So what was it like in the big house?” Parker asked as I slid into the passenger seat of his car. “Did you get to keep the orange jumpsuit and the flip-flops?”
“Orange isn’t my color.” I took a cleansing breath. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“You’re welcome, but it’s not something I ever thought I’d have to do. What happened?”
“I was with Jack Wallace . . .”
“Ah.”
“What do you mean, ‘Ah’?”
“Why were you with him? After how he treated you?”
“Ask your wife. She set it up.”
“That makes me feel a lot better.” We drove the next couple of blocks in silence. Then he said, “It was a theft charge?”
“I didn’t steal anything. And neither did Jack. He simply carried a package to the streetlight to figure out where it came from. He wasn’t going to take it anywhere. How were we to know that the chief was watching the house?”
“Ken Young?” Parker said. “Your boyfriend arrested you?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I crossed my arms in front of me. “Especially not now. When they finally got in touch with Kimmie Kaminski, she declined to press charges, so it’s a moot point.”
“You always did have all the luck.” When he pulled up behind the shop, he turned off the engine. “Liz, I didn’t tell Dad what happened. And I suggest you don’t, either.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
“I’ll wait here for Cathy. She stayed with Dad.”
I leaned over and gave Parker a hug. Sometimes it can be awkward hugging your brother, even more so while he’s wearing a parka and buckled into a motor vehicle. But I think he got the point.
When I got upstairs, the apartment was dark. Cathy switched off the television.
Othello hopped up, arched his back in a lazy stretch, and ambled over, rubbing against my booted legs.
“Thank heavens,” Cathy whispered, coming over to hug me. “I felt awful when I heard what happened.”
“Dad doesn’t know, right?” I picked up Othello, and he rested against my shoulder, a prickly whisker scratching against my chin.
Cathy shook her head. “Parker texted me. Dad’s sleeping now, so for all he knows, you were out late on a date.”
I breathed out a relieved sigh.
“So, except for the whole getting arrested part, how did it go?”
“Are you asking about the date or the investigation?”
“Parker’s waiting for you. Pick one, and I promise to fill you in on all the other details tomorrow at work.”
“Spoilsport. Okay, the investigation. No, the date.”
“Final answer?”
She wrinkled her nose and then nodded.
“There might be something there. We had a long talk and got some things out in the open. We ended on a good note. That is, until the sirens started.”
“That is exciting!” She grabbed my arm. “Unless he’s a killer.”
“I don’t think Jack killed anybody.”
“I hope not. I can’t wait until work tomorrow!” She shoved her arms into her coat and headed down the stairs.
I followed her to double-check the locks and alarm system. I must have been holding onto Othello too tightly, because he squirmed out of my arms at the bottom of the steps and took off running into the shop.
I wasn’t ready to settle down for the night either, so I flipped on the shop lights, grabbed a bag of Pop Rocks from the candy display—for strength—and booted up my laptop, which I’d left at the counter. Despite the slap on the wrist we’d gotten from Chief Young, I was still curious about the boxes that we’d found on Kimmie’s doorstep.
Cameras and audio equipment, Jack had said. Immediately my brain had erupted with possibilities. The first was that they were using the house to film pornos, but that might have been inspired by the sisters’ lurid imaginings. They could be shooting a documentary. Or some kind of commercial. Or a low-budget independent film, using Sy’s worldly goods to fund their production. Or trying really, really hard to get on America’s Funniest Home Videos.
The box Jack dragged to the streetlight didn’t have a company name on it, just three initials and a logo. It didn’t take long to find the logo on Google. The company website was slow in loading, and in the meantime, Othello decided I was more interesting than his favorite stuffed terrier pull toy that sat in the store window, because he jumped on my lap.
There in the darkness, as I stroked his sleek fur, we learned that Kimmie had received a package from one of the foremost manufacturers of infrared cameras.
Huh?
###
“Infrared?” Dad said the next morning while buttering his toast. A little too much butter, but I wasn’t ready to fight the cholesterol battle. I’d told him everything about the previous evening except some of the juicier details about Jack and me and the whole part about being arrested.
“Could be making a movie of some sort,” I said. “But I don’t get the infrared part.”
“Some law enforcement use infrared,” he said. “That’s how they catch people trying to enter illegally from Canada, not to mention human trafficking, at the border. Might she be filming some kind of documentary?”
“I wondered the same thing.”
“You didn’t ask her?” he said.
“Well, the . . . circumstances made it a little awkward.” I dug into my fried egg, hoping he wouldn’t press further. And if he did, at least I could take the time it took to chew and swallow to think of a response.
Dad didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched me. After I swallowed, then washed down the last bite of egg with my coffee, he attacked. “Awkward, why?” He squinted at me, and I knew I was done for.
“Fine,” I said. “Jack took one of the boxes off the front porch, trying to read the return address, and we both got busted for attempted theft. Ms. Kaminski was kind enough not to press charges, but it didn’t seem like a good time to give her the third degree about her shopping habits.”
Dad blinked. His lips began to quiver. Then he threw back his head in laughter.
I fumed for about four seconds, then I couldn’t help but smile.
“I can see why that would have been difficult.” He wiped his eye. “But here’s what we’re going to do. When Cathy gets here, you and I are going to head over to Kimmie’s house, and you are going to apologize.”
“Dad, I’m not ten years old. I don’t know that I owe her an apology, and I certainly won’t be hauled over there like some juvenile delinquent and made to act contrite on cue. Jack’s right. She’s up to something.”
“Of course she is,” Dad said. “Lizzie, you’re missing the point. How are we going to find out what she’s up to unless we go over there and ask her?”
“The apology is merely a ruse,” I said.
Dad winked at me. “Now, I recommend you go into the bathroom, look in the mirror, and practice your apology.”
###
Cathy arrived early, primed with double caffeine and eager to hear what happened the evening before. It was too early to pay a social call, so while Dad showered and dressed upstairs, I filled her in and let her know of our plans for the day.
“You be careful,” she said. “Dad is right. She’s up to something.”
“I thought you said the Wallaces were up to something.”
“Is it the day for true confessions?” she said.
“As good a day as any.” Then it dawned on me. “Wait, do you mean . . . ?”
She winced. “I really didn’t think the Wallaces had anything to do with the murder. I thought maybe you and Jack needed time together, to see if sparks flew. Maybe fan the flames.”
“Sparks did fly, and something caught. We had time to discuss what really happened years ago. I’m glad we got everything out into the open.” I wagged a finger at her. “But no more deception. No more pushes, okay? I’m not a desperate spinster, at least not yet.”
“Fine,” she said. “Let nature take its course. Just don’t sabotage it.”
I nodded, but as I worked around the shop that morning, stocking inventory and waiting on customers—yes, Miles’s coupon drew them in—I couldn’t help thinking about what she meant.
I certainly didn’t sabotage my relationships. They just didn’t work out. In most cases, I ended them after I couldn’t picture the two of us doing the whole starter home and picket fence together. It didn’t pay to jump into things. Some of my high school friends were already onto their second husbands. I wanted a happily-ever-after kind of guy. Someone I could count on, who would tough out the rough patches with me. Someone who didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve but didn’t hide them, either. He’d be strong but compassionate. A leader but benevolent.
I stopped in my tracks, staring down at the superhero action figures. I wasn’t looking for a man with X-ray vision or superhuman strength. When had my ideal husband become a clone of my father?
###
I felt a prickle up my back, as if I was being watched, as Dad and I walked back up Kimmie’s sidewalk. I glanced at the house next door, then waved to Irene and Lenora, who were standing at their window.
“Do you know what you’re going to say?” Dad asked.
I squared my shoulders and nodded, although my stomach was either unhappy with lunch or nervous about this bogus apology. I took a deep breath, then pressed the bell. Just in case, I lifted the old doorknocker and rapped it a few times.
A series of bumps and footsteps followed, growing closer to the door until it finally inched open, and Kimmie, still in her pajamas, peeked out.
She blinked at me, then recognition set in. “You!” She started to close the door.
“I’ve come to apologize!” I said quickly. The door stopped, now cracked open about two inches. “And explain.”
“Go ahead,” she said.
Dad signaled me to go on, so I poured my “apology” into the two-inch gap of space. Somehow, by the time my story ended, I had morphed into some innocent bystander who practically threw herself on the doorstep to prevent Jack from absconding with Kimmie’s mail. “Of course, you can’t really blame him,” I insisted. “He was distraught over his uncle’s death.”
The gap in the door neither widened nor closed. Nor was there any verbal response from Kimmie. I hazarded a look at Dad, but he rolled his eyes at my story.
Finally, the answer came. “Apology accepted. I don’t want problems with Sy’s family. But tell your friend the next time, I will press charges.”
Dad fingered the Christmas wreath on Kimmie’s door. “Wow, real evergreen!” he said, then leaned in to sniff it. “Very nice.” He sounded genuinely impressed. “Wherever did you find it?”
The door opened another inch. “At the farmer’s market. Have to go early though. They sell out.”
“Sy never bothered much with Christmas. I don’t remember him ever putting up decorations, not any of the times I answered calls here.”
The door opened a couple of more inches. “Are you a cop?”
“Retired now,” he said, “but I came out here quite a bit when Sy was alive. Seems he used to hear things.”
A few more inches, and we could now see her face. “Strange sounds? Footsteps?”
“Sounds about right,” Dad said. “Although I can’t say I ever discovered the source.”
Kimmie flung the door fully open now and eyed my father up and down. “Would you like to come in?”