A Novel Way to Die (13 page)

He nodded. “Your boyfriend had it pegged right. To put it in layman’s terms, someone
bashed Curt Benedetto over the head with that crowbar.”

ELEVEN

“NOTHING TO REPORT FROM LAST NIGHT,” ROBERT ASSURED
Darla come Friday morning as he switched the computer screen of the security software
from review mode to the multipicture live view. “Not unless, you know, you count all
those guys I saw going up to your place.”

“Guys? There weren’t any . . . oh, wait.”

Snatching the mouse from him, Darla pulled up a full-screen view courtesy of the front
exterior camera. Sure enough, not only did that camera capture the store’s front door,
but now her private stoop as well as the Plinskis’ stoop next door was also visible.

Darla gave the teen a stern look. “Last I saw, the camera covered just the store’s
front door and window. Any idea who changed the angle?”

“Sorry,” he replied, ducking his head. “It’s just that the owner of the barbershop
down the street came by a couple of days ago when you were at lunch. He said the scrap
thieves hit his shop and stole his fancy mailbox. And Professor James was like, all
worried about you, so he had me get out the step ladder and move the camera so it
recorded your door, too.”

“And no one was going to tell me about this?”

“I guess we figured you’d notice sooner or later.” He pointed to the screen. “I mean,
it’s pretty obvious. And with what happened to Mr. Eisen’s friend—”

Robert broke off dramatically with a gesture of hitting his head with an invisible
crowbar, and Darla suppressed a sigh.

“Oh, and boss, about the guys . . . that’s all good,” he added, giving her a grin
and an exaggerated thumbs-up.

Darla felt herself blush as bright a pink as the sweater set she was wearing over
her brown woolen slacks, even as she firmly informed him, “Sorry to break it to you,
Robert, but the guys you saw were Detective Reese and Mr. Eisen. We were all just
talking about what happened to Mr. Benedetto.”

Reese had left soon after Barry, staying only long enough to gulp down his coffee
before heading back out into the night. His parting comments had been to warn her
that Curt’s death was now a full-fledged murder investigation.

“I particularly want to talk to Tera Aguilar,” Reese had told her, “so do me a favor
and don’t give her any early warnings if you see her before I do. That little hint
your boyfriend dropped about a fight between her and Benedetto might turn into a motive.”

“Maybe Jake can help you track her down,” Darla had suggested, nobly eschewing offense
that he’d assume she’d make the same mistake twice. “Hilda might be more open to talking
about Tera to her than to you.”

“You’re reading my mind, Red. That’s where I’m headed next.”

Continuing her virtuous streak, Darla had bit back another reflexive
Don’t call me Red
,
and also resisted the temptation to keep a surreptitious watch out the window until
Reese left Jake’s place so that she could run down and pump her friend for details.
Not that she wouldn’t see if she could pry a little bit of gossip out of Jake today,
though she suspected that the ex-cop would likely be as closemouthed as Reese on the
subject.

For the moment, though, there was an even more important issue that needed to be addressed.

“What about Hamlet? Did you catch him on surveillance?” she asked.

Hamlet looked up from where he was sunbathing on the faded Oriental throw rug in front
of the main door and returned Darla’s annoyed look with an innocent green blink. Not
that she was taken in by his whole I’d-never-dream-of-sneaking-out act. She knew better.

Darla was pretty sure that he’d gotten out again last night. She had walked through
her whole apartment after Reese had left, looking again for possible Hamlet escape
tunnels. She hadn’t discovered any likely exits, and Hamlet was once more snoozing
atop the horsehair sofa. Feeling confident that the ornery cat was safely contained
for the night, she had finished watching her video and then reluctantly tuned in to
the local news channel. To her relief, Curt’s murder wasn’t mentioned, and so she’d
headed off to bed.

But she woke a few hours later from a ghastly dream of stumbling over Barry dead in
his basement to discover Hamlet nowhere to be found in the apartment. Anger had battled
with worry. The overnight forecast was for temperatures in the high thirties—not low
enough to freeze an AWOL cat, but cold enough that he’d be pretty frosty despite his
warm black fur coat.

“You’ll be sorry,” she’d declared as she headed back to her own warm bed. Hamlet was
a grown-up cat, she had reassured herself as she pulled up the covers. If he wanted
to freeze his fuzzy butt off partying on the streets overnight, then let him. But
despite repeating that mantra several times, worry had clung to her even as she drifted
off to sleep again.

When she’d awakened again at the usual time, she had made a beeline for the kitchen,
where she’d been relieved to find Hamlet waiting for his breakfast. Rather than haranguing
her with his usual demanding
meow
, however, he had sat patiently next to his dish, head tilted and green eyes wide
as if to say,
Look at the good kitty . . . I’ve been inside the whole time
.

“Yeah, like I believe that,” she had groused. Not only was his fur still cold to the
touch, but a few spots of dirt clung to him. The sly little beast had definitely been
out on the town.

Now, Robert shook his head. “If he snuck out, it wasn’t any place that the cameras
could see. But if you want, I can poke around outside later and see if I find any
Hamlet-sized escape holes.”

“That would be great. Bad enough the neighborhood is being taken over by murderers
and thieves. We don’t need Hamlet on the loose to boot!” Then, glancing at the clock,
she added, “Oops, opening time. Robert, go ahead and unlock the front door.”

While the teen complied, Darla powered up the register and wondered again if Reese
had learned anything from Jake about Tera Aguilar. Maybe she should see if Jake could
join her for lunch today. Even if her friend claimed client confidentiality, they’d
be walking past Great Scentsations on their way to the deli. She could peek in and
see if Tera was working, and at least satisfy herself that the girl hadn’t turned
fugitive. As far as Barry . . .

She shook her head. No doubt Reese’s little stunt last night hadn’t earned her any
points with the man, though she suspected he was too polite to admit any aggravation.
And since she still hadn’t gotten around to getting his phone number—the whole finding-Curt’s-lifeless-body
thing had caused that detail to slip her mind—she would have to wait for him to call
or stop by again before she could learn where she stood. The realization left her
feeling oddly regretful. Though he wasn’t her boyfriend—despite what Reese said—and
they hadn’t even technically gone out on a date yet, Darla could see developing a
more personal friendship with him. Besides, under the circumstances, she suspected
he could use a friendly shoulder to lean on.

“Hey, Ms. Pettistone, look who’s here!”

Robert’s enthusiastic tone and the sound of the front door chiming roused her from
her reverie. She looked up to see a smiling Mary Ann making her way around Hamlet,
who as usual was refusing to relinquish his official sunning spot to any incoming
customers. Mary Ann’s long, navy blue corduroy shirtdress brushed him, and he put
out a sheathed paw in an obligatory “back off” gesture, but Darla knew he wasn’t serious.
The old woman was on his permanent BFF list.

“Hello, Darla . . . and Hamlet. And good morning, Robert,” Mary Ann greeted the teen,
who surprised Darla by giving the septuagenarian a gentle if enthusiastic hug. “I
must say, I do like this new look of yours, all dressed up like a successful businessman.”

Darla suppressed a smile. Robert wasn’t exactly Brooks Brothers material, wearing
his usual black shirt and jeans topped with another James-inspired vest—this one,
in shades of red, blue, and yellow in a distinctly southwestern pattern—but he looked
neat and professional.

“Thanks again for, you know, lending me the statue, Ms. Plinski,” he told her. “Ms.
Pettistone really liked my window display.”

“I just saw it, and I think you did a marvelous job! It’s—how do you young people
call it?—really rad. In fact, I may come back later to buy both books.”

“We sold half a dozen copies yesterday afternoon alone,” Darla told her, noting in
amusement Robert’s expression of teenaged horror over an adult using sadly dated slang.
“That’s as many as we sold in two weeks, and all thanks to Robert’s creative work.
Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if we sell most of the remaining stock this weekend.”

“I’m so glad. And, I must confess, Robert is the reason I’m stopping by,” she explained,
joining Darla at the register. “You see, Brother hurt his arm yesterday. Oh, he’ll
be all right,” she added as Darla made a sound of concern, “but we received a delivery
this morning, and I can’t carry the boxes by myself. I was hoping to borrow Robert
for a few minutes.”

“Sure, no problem,” the teen exclaimed, and then gave Darla an apologetic look. “Uh,
that is, if it’s okay with Ms. Pettistone.”

“Certainly,” Darla agreed. “Now’s the perfect time, before the customers start coming
in.”

“I knew I could count on you both,” Mary Ann said cheerily. “And I made some lovely
pumpkin and cranberry bread last night. Why don’t I send him back with a few slices
for you and him and James?”

“Yum,” Robert replied.

“It’s a deal,” Darla agreed with a smile that promptly faded as she recalled that
the old woman probably had not heard about Curt Benedetto’s murder yet. “Mary Ann,
before you go, there’s something I’d better tell you so you can let Mr. Plinski know,
too.”

Darla filled her in, and when she had finished, the old woman clasped her age-blotched
hands together and gave a despairing look. “Oh my gracious, Darla, what is this world
coming to? Brother will be
so
distressed when I tell him. Do the police have any idea who killed the poor man?”

“Not yet. Detective Reese is the one handling the case, though, and I know he’s busy
questioning people.”

“Oh, yes, Detective Reese. Such a nice man,” she added in a confidential aside to
Robert, “even though he did almost arrest me that one time for breaking and entering.”

While the teen stared at her in surprise at that comment, she returned her attention
to Darla. “Well, we’ll just have to trust him to solve the case. But I do wish there
was something we could do to take back our neighborhood from these miscreants.”

“I’m with you on that, Mary Ann. Maybe we should talk to Reese about setting up a
neighborhood watch.”

“You mean, one of those things where they, you know, wear red beanies and patrol with
walkie-talkies and baseball bats?” Robert interjected in an eager voice. “That would
be, like, totally cool. I’m in.”

“Oh, my gracious,” Mary Ann replied with a small smile. “Though, come to think of
it, I do have a baseball bat that I keep by my bed. If Brother didn’t object, perhaps
Robert and I could patrol together. Do you suppose I could wear a red ski cap instead
of a beanie?”

“Sure, ski caps are way better,” he agreed. “And you know how Ms. Pettistone sometimes
wears those fancy chopstick things in her hair? Those would make, like, really sick
weapons, just like in the movies. Hi-yaah!” he finished, mimicking whipping out a
pair of hair sticks from an updo and wielding them like twin foils.

“Wait!” Darla gave the pair of would-be crime fighters a look of mild alarm. She’d
been thinking more along the lines of handing out fliers to the local homes and businesses,
maybe coordinating a lookout post on each block. These two, on the other hand, were
prepared to launch their own mini D-Day assault.

“Robert, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but if you want to organize a group like that,
your job would be to call the police if there’s trouble and then get the heck out
of there. No vigilante heroics where someone—maybe the wrong person—winds up getting
hurt. It’s happened before, and I don’t want to be bailing you out on a murder charge
one day.”

“Don’t worry, boss, I get it. I read the news online,” he soberly agreed, dropping
the imaginary weapons and sticking his hands back in his vest pockets. Mary Ann, meanwhile,
shook her head in agreement. “Darla is right. Patrolling a neighborhood is a serious
responsibility. Maybe that nice Detective Reese can give us some pointers. But we
really should get the lead out and organize this before anyone else in the neighborhood
is murdered.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll ask Reese to talk to you two about it as soon as I see him again.
Now, why don’t you take Robert and get those boxes moved?”

The two of them headed out, sidestepping a snoozing Hamlet, who appeared to have no
interest in joining any sort of citizens’ brigade. His green eyes remained tightly
shut, even when two customers almost tripped over him a few minutes later. He still
hadn’t stirred even after Robert, bearing the promised cranberry and pumpkin bread,
returned from helping Mary Ann.