Authors: Wendy Potocki
The afternoon flying by, the fourth batch of cookies was already in the oven. Leaving the others to cool, the two women took a break. Sharing a cup of tea, they geared up for the fun task of icing the blank canvasses.
“Yum, this is delish!” Melissa raved, taking another sip of the richly spiced black tea.
“Do you like? It’s a new Christmas blend. I thought I’d give it a try.”
“Sure do! I think I taste clove and cinnamon!” Raising her nose in the air, she inhaled deeply. “Those little reindeer sure smell good.”
“I think they’ll taste even better,” Joan teased.
Leaning back, Missy relaxed into the comfortable padding of the high-backed chair. “You know, I could get used to this. Not that I don’t miss class or anything!” she quickly explained.
“Understood. It is so strange about that ballet you’re doing and the things that are happening,” she muttered. Seeing the stricken look on Melissa’s face, she regretted her utterance. “Oh, I’m so sorry, hon! I didn’t mean to upset you!”
“No, it’s alright. It’s not like it’s anything that I haven’t been thinking. I guess I can tell you this now. I heard Viktor warning Una about performing it. He said something about letting sleeping dogs lie.”
“Let sleeping dogs lie, huh?”
“Exactly.”
“What was Ms. Velofsky’s response?”
“Blew it off. It’s just weird that he said it before all this happened, and Una’s grandmother thinks that Viktor is suspect numero uno, and …”
“He’s the one that Irwin Belmont left the land to.”
The timer went off, interrupting the flow of the chat. Joan got up, slipping on the oven mitt. Resting the browned sugar cookies on the top of the stove, she grasped the next sheets. Resetting the timer, she transferred the newly-baked cookies to a wire rack, resuming the talk.
“You know, I’m so curious about that Belmont guy. Everything seems to be centered around that school. Why don’t you and I do a little sleuthing?” Joan suggested. Using the spatula to lift the last little sugar cookie Christmas tree, she carefully placed it down, ridding herself of the mitt.
“Sleuthing?” Melissa asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Yes, in the same place we found out about those leshies.” Taking her hand, she led her to her office. Sitting down at her desk, she typed Belmont’s name into the search engine.
“I like the way you think, but do you believe we’ll find anything?”
“Never know until you try,” she said as over 1,000 results were listed. “Not bad,” Joan said looking over the selections. “Of course, most of these have absolutely nothing to do with who we’re looking for.”
“Maybe if you add ‘Holybrook’?”
“Good idea,” she responded, typing in the new key words. The results dramatically reduced, Joan began reading out loud.
“Yeah, no,” Melissa responded to the first few sites.
“Irwin Belmont, architect of the Holybrook Library and …”
“I think that’s our man.”
“I think you’re right,” Joan said opening the link. “And there he is.” The two women stared at the slight, handsome young man. Well-dressed, he stood in a formal three-piece suit in a barren patch of land earmarked for construction. Joan began to read, “Irwin Belmont, born April 3, 1838, died February 1, 1912.”
“That would have made him …” Melissa said, trying to quickly calculate.
“Seventy-three
,” Joan answered, examining his face. “He looks like an artist. He has that intense look.”
“You mean, like me?” Missy joked.
“Exactly like you.”
“Except his moustache is a little heavier,” Missy retorted, grabbing her upper lip, mocking abject horror.
“Here you are.”
Startled by the male voice, the two women looked behind them. Treated to Todd’s somber expression, he unzipped his parka.
“Honey, what are you doing home?” his mother asked.
“I just wanted to check on you two.” Strolling over to the computer, he peered over his mother’s shoulder. “Who’s that?”
“Irwin Belmont,” Joan stated, folding her arms in smug satisfaction. “You’re not the only one that knows how to conduct an investigation.”
He let out an exasperated sigh.
“Well, if you know how, I think you might join our ranks. Doing a piss poor job in solving this one.”
“Don’t tell me that something else has happened?’ Melissa asked.
Holding her breath, she prayed that he’d tell her she was way off base and that everything was just fine.
“Yes,” was the one word reply.
Gasping, she covered her mouth, quickly standing.
“Not Una! Please don’t tell me something’s happened to her!” she pleaded.
“No, it isn’t Ms. Velofsky … or her grandmother,” he added anticipating her next question. “It’s Manny. He’s disappeared.”
The color draining from Missy’s face, Joan grasped her hands as the timer went off again.
Chapter Fifty-eight
“Todd!” Bonnie shouted as she ran across the diner. Not filled with hungry patrons, they’d been replaced by rapacious officials and medical personnel intent on stopping the wanton assault on Holybrook’s citizens. “Isn’t it horrible? Manny? I’m in shock,” she confessed. Trembling, her usually affable voice rounded out in nervous tremors.
“Yes, it’s more than bad.”
“But why weren’t you here earlier? With the vanguard sent to investigate?” she asked suspiciously. Sniffling through tears, a ratty-looking paper napkin was clenched in her hand.
“Because I got tossed off the case a long time ago. Seems my personal feelings in this case were making me biased. At least that was the theory.”
“That’s crazy! What’d they think, that you were rearranging evidence so that Melissa would escape scrutiny? Pah-toey!” she spat dismissively. “Yeah, we all live in terror of her rage.” Not nearly done with her tirade, she didn’t care that it was overheard. “They’re a bunch of idiots! No wonder this case hasn’t been solved yet!” she added for good measure.
Although heads were raised and action stilted for a moment, the intense activity picked up like a tide knocking over a sand castle. Something about the scene triggered his memory.
“Bonnie, have you seen that guy who used to come in here?”
“What guy?”
“The one with the dyed black hair. Wore it in a 50’s greaser style. Had a leather jacket that matched and …”
Her eyes opened wide, bursting with unbridled excitement. She poked her finger into his chest as if tapping out a message in Morse code.
“But that’s him!”
“That’s who?”
“The guy that Manny left with! He came in last night—around 7:00 or 8:00 PM. I was expecting him to sit down, but he went over to Manny. Don’t know what he said, but the next thing I know, Manny’s taking off his apron and telling me he’d be back in a few minutes, but he never showed. I closed up, but when I got here this morning, he still wasn’t around. I called his wife and she said that he’d called last night to say he’d be late, but never came home.”
“What?” he shouted, grabbing her by her upper arms. “Are you sure? He left with Mulligan?”
“Mulligan? If that’s his name. And that’s what I told that Murray person.”
“Angela, huh?” he said putting on his hat. “You hang in there, Bonnie.”
“Oh, I’ll hang in there, alright, just not here! I’m going home, and then taking a long, unplanned vacation. My sister said she’d put me up in her house until this blows over. Main thing about my sister is that she
doesn’t
live in Holybrook!”
“Sounds perfect,” he replied, happy that she’d be out of harm’s way. Zipping his coat, his inner anger boiled away until all that was left was the rage he felt about being ignored.
* * * * *
Fuming on his drive back to the station, he barged in as if bent on violence. His colleagues looked up when they heard the door slam, but went right back to work. They’d figured this was coming.
Foster got up, greeting him.
“Where is she?” Todd demanded, loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“In her office,” he said hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. His slight belly peeking over the waistband, his chest puffed out to make it look more harmonious. “Looks like you were right. Sorry I doubted you. You got a big apology coming.”
The earnestness in Foster’s eyes outweighed the need of saying
‘I told you so.’
“Thanks for that,” he replied, patting him on his arm before heading away.
The hallway was buzzing—the professionals working in a concerted effort to stop the mayhem from continuing. Angela’s office door was open, her cell phone plastered to one ear. Todd shuffled to the side, letting a member of her task force litter her desk with new forensics reports.
“Well, then get someone here!” Glancing up, she motioned for Todd to sit down as she continued to speak in hurried, urgent tones. “Yes, we need help! Now!”
Ending the call, she slumped in her chair, running her hand across her brow. Throwing her hands in the air, she replied, “Before you say anything, I know why you’re here.”
“You do?” he said fingering his hat.
“Yes, you’re here because we blew it on Robert Mulligan.”
“Yeah, well, that bad decision erased any evidence we might have gotten from his room and car. Not to mention fingerprints, and any DNA from the victims, or …” he listed, pausing. “Actually, we don’t know what else because everything is gone, isn’t it? All because someone thought I was a loose cannon for dating someone involved in the case! Meanwhile, you and your cohorts are still on the case when it was one of your own that disappeared! Then there was Larabee and now Manny. Everyone knew Manny! We all ate in his diner so now everyone on this force and in this town is personally involved. Does that mean we’re all unfit to aid in this investigation?”
Exhaling, she banged her foot on the ground as she gazed up at the ceiling. He wasn’t making it easy, but then she hadn’t expected him to.
“Look, in the first place, you didn’t exactly have things right. You thought he was a victim …”
“Point was that I knew he was involved! And by sifting through the evidence, you could have discovered exactly what part he played, but …”
“That I believe was a ‘yes’ as to you being wrong? If I can say I was wrong, you certainly can admit you weren’t 100% right on everything. Look, Cummings was a hothead, and I’m not. It won’t happen again. Every single piece of evidence or suggestion will be judged on an individual basis, and not because the someone who said it knows someone that’s involved. As you so eloquently pointed out, that’s all of us. Okay?”
“No, not okay,” he said leaning the palms of his hands down on her desk. “Am I or am I not part of this investigation? The way I see it, having a dog in the fight makes me more anxious to solve this.”
“I really appreciate your concern, but that was what the phone call was for. We are currently expecting reinforcements.”
“You mean, the agents Cummings sent packing are returning? And that is what being ‘
objective’
means? Making exactly the same disastrous mistake over and over again?”
“No, it means being in charge which is what I am. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a case to solve.”
Not at all intimidated, Todd wasn’t done.
“Let me just say this. Officially or unofficially, I am on this case.”
Todd exiting, Angela slammed her hand on the desk. While she couldn’t blame him for the enthusiasm. she couldn’t risk totally bringing him onboard. As she’d learned in training, it was the display of that kind of emotion that got you killed.
Her phone rang for the hundredth time that day. Picking it up, there was an instantaneous recognition of the voice heard. The heavy Russian accent gave her away. Given the grim statistical ascent in victimizations, she listened with uncompromised focus. Not taking her long to formulate her conclusion, she spoke with studied calmness disguising the coiled spring that was tightening.
“Yes, Ms. Velofsky, we can be right there.”
Chapter Fifty-nine
“Sorry for the problems, son, but don’t let them turkeys get you down,” Grant sagely counseled his son who was still agitated over this morning’s proceedings.
“Yeah, easier said than done.” Falling back into the well-worn easy chair, it was one of his father’s purchases. His mother had been aghast, but it hadn’t taken long for her to discover its real purpose—providing comfort. Before long, she was actively engaged in nightly tussles over who would win the right to squander the evening in its luxurious, body hugging padding.
Placing socked feet up, he tilted the adjustable chair back, the instant gratification doing little to settle his restive mind.
“So what’s your new role? Director of Watching Them Run Around Like Headless Chickens?” his dad asked, sniffing the air to catch a whiff of dinner. The lingering cookie aroma masked any traces of the more nutritious fare.
“Pretty much. I rode around awhile, then went back to the Grey Lodge Inn to talk to a few people and see what they knew. I’m acting like a lone gunman, and that’s just the sort of thing they warned us against at the academy. You don’t ever go outside your department or team.”