Death of a Dapper Snowman (15 page)
He gave me a look to let me know that wasn’t the right thing to say.
I quickly added, “Maybe there’s a paper trail, and your stuff can be chased down after all. Never lose hope in your quest for the truth, because even a little hope can light the way.”
His expression softened. “That’s something I’ve heard your father say.”
I gave him a warm smile. “I may have heard it a few times myself, over the years.”
A taxi pulled up on the other side of the glass doors and honked.
“That’ll be my ride,” Mr. Jenkins said, then he excused himself and left.
I looked over at the white-haired woman knitting a sweater at reception.
She didn’t even pause her clicking needles as she looked up at me and said, “Can I help you with something, miss?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
There were some police officers in the station, but I didn’t see Tony, or the new woman, Peggy.
I looked down at the envelopes in my hand. Did I really want to confess to some random officer about opening these? Not yet. Not today, anyway.
I had another idea. My father had tried to return my call last night, but I’d missed it due to the noise at the pub.
This morning, being in his house and then at his old workplace without him had made me miss him fiercely.
It was still early in the day, and if I started driving now, I could be in the city for a visit with him at the hospital, and still return home at a reasonable time.
The knitting receptionist said, “Are you sure you’re okay? I have some cards here for a grief counsellor, if you’re feeling shaken up. Or you can always talk to me.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think a long drive is all I need.”
She clicked away with her needles. “Long drives are nice.”
I walked back out of the police station and went straight to my car.
My mind was buzzing with a million thoughts and worries—so many, it was difficult to concentrate on one at a time.
Once I started driving, though, my thoughts unravelled. Soon they would be ironed smooth.
If the costume shop owner had an alibi for the timeframe of Mr. Michaels’ murder, that meant the murderer was still at large.
Could it have been the pretty young blonde I met the night before? Was that why she’d been watching the door all night and refusing even a single drink? She didn’t seem strong enough to strangle a man, but there was that rumor he had been reunited with a long-lost daughter. Still, even if she was his daughter, why kill him? Any recent changes to his will would only lock her in as the prime suspect.
There had to be someone else who benefited from his death, or despised him enough to kill him.
As I drove past the sign reading
Thank You for Visiting Misty Falls
, I considered turning around and going straight to Officer Tony Milano with my wild theories. But Tony might have laughed at my suggestions.
I knew one person who wouldn’t laugh or call me paranoid. My father. He always took my insights seriously, even when I was young. He would listen to my ideas, no matter how wild and strange they seemed.
When I got older, I asked him why he’d played along. Wouldn’t it have been better to rein me in a bit? Wasn’t he overcompensating for being a single parent by indulging me?
He swore to me then, and he has ever since, that there was no such thing as a hypothesis that wasn’t worth considering. Even my wildest tales, stories about elves and werewolves that I didn’t expect him to take seriously, sometimes jogged his memory. A fresh perspective helped him see new patterns.
Well, he was going to see some new patterns today when I visited him. This one idea was a real doozy, and would definitely put a smile on his face.
What if all the local businesses had pooled their resources and hired a pretty hit girl from out of town to deal with their worst shoplifter?
I’d forgotten how
busy city traffic was. Cars zoomed by, changing lanes without signaling, the drivers distracted by their phones. I was overwhelmed, but my car’s on-board computer seemed delighted to actually have a job to do. The pleasant female voice told me when to turn left or right to reach the hospital.
Even with her assistance, I nearly missed the turn-off. My breathing got shallow and my body tensed as I changed lanes frantically. Was this really what the city was like every day?
Compared to where I’d been living for the past month, everything was so fast-paced, and there were so many sounds. It was nothing like the quiet of Misty Falls, where traffic jams lasted all of a minute and nobody dared honk impatiently, since they likely were acquainted with the person in the car in front of them.
When I got to the hospital, I did something I hadn’t done in weeks—I paid for parking. And it wasn’t cheap! Sure, it was tricky to find great espresso in Misty Falls, but you never paid a cent for parking.
I stepped out of the car and stretched my arms and legs, which were stiff from the long drive, then walked into the hospital.
I found my father’s floor without incident, but when I got to his room, he was sleeping.
I took a seat by his side, expecting him to open his eyes at any moment.
He’d probably sensed I was there the minute I walked into the building. Finnegan Day didn’t just spend his working career as a cop. He was born a cop. According to my grandmother, nothing got past him, and you sure couldn’t sneak into his room without waking him up.
He’d wake up and see me any minute.
Five minutes passed, then ten minutes, and he still didn’t wake up. I checked to see that he was breathing, just in case.
A brunette nurse came in, saw me, and said sweetly, “Aren’t you a little angel? You’re just as pretty as he said. Which one are you, the sunshine or the rain?”
I got up and shook her hand. “My reputation has preceded me. You could say I’m the rain. I’m Stormy.”
The nurse was forty-something and had that nice energy you like to see in a caretaker: a good smile, and bright eyes darting around to make sure everything’s under control.
“Your father is quite the man,” she said. Her eyes lit up like she was talking about meeting her favorite actor. “He says I should move to Misty Falls now that my son’s out of the house and off to college.”
“He suggested that?” I glanced over at my father, who was still sleeping peacefully.
That rascal.
My father loved the town of Misty Falls, but he didn’t typically go around trying to recruit people into moving there. His interest in this nurse had to be personal. And here I thought those days were behind him.
The woman said, “I have to admit I’m curious. He’s been telling me about the town ever since we met in the summer, for his physical therapy.” She darted over to the side of the bed and tucked the blankets along his sides as she looked him over.
I checked her name tag, and everything clicked into place. We’d spoken on the phone when I called to check on him, and she’d been so friendly.
She’d said her name, but I hadn’t been paying attention, thinking it was just hospital policy.
This was Dora Jones, the petite brunette who was my father’s physical therapist. I actually had heard about her, especially about how young she was. Funnily enough, from the way Pam had gone on about her, I’d imagined her as being much younger, maybe even in her twenties.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Whenever Dora came up in conversation, Pam would comment on how young she was and get huffy.
She was probably exaggerating the age difference to make my father feel ridiculous for having a crush on the woman. I even teased him about it myself, when I imagined she was in her twenties. But this woman wasn’t
that
much younger than him.
No wonder Pam felt threatened.
No wonder she’d burned the heck out of the french toast.
She knew he was here at the hospital, being cared for by Dora.
She finished tucking him in and said to me, “It’s such a shame he took that tumble, because he wouldn’t have needed the surgery, otherwise.”
“What tumble? My father fell down? He didn’t tell me that.”
Dora gave me a knowing look. There was a sisterly warmth in her amber brown eyes.
“She pushed him,” Dora said. “Your father claims he slipped when he was stepping into the bath tub, but the injury to his hip wasn’t consistent with what he told us. And neither was
her
story, if you ask me.”
“Pam and my father had a fight? A physical one? When did he tell you this?”
“Honestly, I don’t think she
meant
to push him down the stairs. Maybe she was just swatting him for being a naughty boy.” She grinned at his sleeping profile, bringing out cute dimples in her rosy cheeks. “He was probably saying something sassy, like he always does, and she gave him a shove, and down the steps he went.”
“Dad!” I exclaimed. “Stop pretending to be asleep. You open your eyes right now and tell me what’s going on.”
Dora chuckled. “He’ll be out for at least another hour, dear. He conned the other nurse into giving him two pills instead of the usual one. You should have called! I know he wouldn’t have knocked himself out if he knew his little rainy girl was coming for a visit.”
I didn’t want to believe her about the sleeping pills, so I grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. “Finnegan Day, wake up.”
His nostrils flared, and the rhythm of his deep breathing broke for an instant, but he didn’t wake up from his slumber.
“Let your father sleep it off,” Dora said. “Would you like to borrow a book from the floor’s library? I could get you a real coffee from the nurse’s station. Don’t use the vending machine in the hall if you know what’s good for you.”
I stepped back and crossed my arms while I ran through my options. Dora stayed, hovering in the room. My father still showed no signs of waking up from his nap. In fact, he seemed to be smiling in his sleep, enjoying whatever dream he was in.
I reached into my purse to check the time on my phone. My fingers grazed the envelopes. I yanked one out and checked the address. R&F Brokers was not far from the hospital.
“What do you say to that coffee?” Dora asked.
“Thanks for the kind offer,” I said. “I’ve got some errands I can run while I’m here in the city, so I’ll go do those, then come back. If he wakes up, tell him I need to speak with him today, and he’d better not go anywhere.”
She patted his leg through the blanket in a very familiar manner. Dora wore three rings on her fingers, but her wedding ring finger was bare. Dora was a single mother with a full-grown son, and I knew she was just my father’s type, because his type was any woman who found him charming.
“Don’t you worry,” Dora said to me. “I won’t let him get away.”
I left the room, muttering under my breath, “I’m sure you won’t, Dora Jones.”
I took the elevator down, stewing the whole way. My father was old enough to know better than to be flirting with his pretty physical therapist. If Pam really had pushed him down the stairs, he must have…
Well, actually,
nobody deserves to be pushed down stairs.
Why was I even worrying about my father’s relationship with Pam, anyway? She and I tolerated each other, but I wasn’t overly fond of her, or the way she was with my father. They’d been dating for a month when she decided it was a terrible waste of money for her to be renting an apartment she was rarely at. She got herself moved into his house lickety-split. I didn’t say anything at the time, because I had my own stuff going on, but maybe it had been a mistake.
When it comes to love, we all make mistakes, after all. I spent seven years of my life engaged to a man who shrieked like a little girl when he encountered a spider.
I got into my car and punched the address for R&F Brokers into my navigation system.
At least this errand would make me feel like I was accomplishing something. If I could track down Mr. Jenkins’ stolen cufflinks, that would be a good deed, and life always has a way of getting better when you do a good deed for someone.
R&F Brokers was,
as I suspected, a pawn shop. A colorful assortment of characters was leaving when I arrived. Despite the chilly winter weather, the young men wore no jackets. All the better to show off their arm tattoos and thick gold chains, I guessed.