Foal Play: A Mystery (19 page)

“Shall we?” he said with a wink and indicated the living room area of the trailer.

Colleen eyed the sectional leather furniture. No matter where she sat, Pinky could sit next to her. She forced a smile, then chose a spot in the middle of the longer section of the sofa. Sitting in the middle allowed her plenty of room to get away if he tried to make an amorous advance. Surprisingly, Pinky chose a seat adjacent to hers. He leaned back into the pillows, put his glass up to one eye, and gazed at her through the champagne.

“What are you doing?” she asked, unsure what to make of this.

“Trying to see what you’d look like surrounded by bubbles,” he said.

Colleen squirmed and set her champagne on the glass-and-chrome coffee table. She resisted the urge to clobber Pinky. “Mr. Salvatore, how long are we going to play this little game?” she asked.

“What game is that?” he asked, leaning forward with interest.

“The one where you burn debris and I fine you. Don’t you think it’s getting old?”

“Do you have something new in mind?”

She fought back a shudder. The thought of her and Pinky was too bizarre. They were from two different worlds. No matter how attractive, charming, or successful other women found Pinky, he was another species to Colleen. Maybe that’s what he liked about her. Perhaps he found her exotic, as crazy as that seemed.

“How about you stop burning the debris? That would be new,” she said, wanting to keep the conversation professional.

He sighed with disappointment and sat back. “I thought you said you were tired of the old game.”

You want a new game, Pinky, I’ll give you one, she thought. “Okay then. How about we talk about the pyrotechnics company and Mrs. Crepe’s house exploding.”

Pinky smirked. “Now that
is
a new game. One I believe you started at Mrs. Crepe’s memorial service.”

“Well?” she asked.

Pinky rose, crossed to the kitchen, and poured himself another glass of champagne. “As I told you before, I’m not in the business of acquiring property through illegal means,” he said and rested against the counter.

“Then what was Bobby Crepe doing here earlier?”

Pinky stared at Colleen a long moment. She found herself holding her breath. She had never known him to be at a loss for words.

“I don’t discuss business deals with outside parties,” he finally said.

“But you are doing business with Bobby Crepe.”

“Yes.”

How dare Pinky manipulate Bobby when he was still grieving for his not-so-dead mother! She rose from the sofa in a burst of anger. “How could you!”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “How could I what?”

“How could you prey on Bobby when he just lost his mother? It’s despicable.”

Pinky put down his champagne glass. “Is that what you think of me?”

Colleen studied him. He appeared to be genuinely hurt. A hint of doubt surfaced in her mind but she pushed it down. Pinky deliberately crossed to her. She stiffened, unsure whether he wanted to hit or kiss her. She stood ready to defend herself. Pinky stepped into her personal space.

“You seem to be operating under a misconception,” he said. “Bobby Crepe approached me about selling the family property, not the other way around. You may not believe it, but I respect family. I’d never approach a man who was grieving over the loss of his mother.”

“But you’re not opposed to him approaching you,” Colleen said, her anger subsiding as her mind whirled about Bobby selling Myrtle’s house.

“Buying and selling property is how I make my living. I won’t apologize for acquiring a desirable piece of real estate that, to be quite honest, his mother refused to sell to me.”

“And you have no knowledge of anyone who might do something, let’s say illegal, to speed that process along?”

Pinky clenched his jaw. “No.”

She stared him straight in the eyes. He was either a really good liar or he was telling the truth. Despite his apparent discomfort with her last question, her gut told her he was being honest with her. Her face flushed anew, this time from embarrassment. She had insulted the chief business benefactor to the Corolla Fire and Rescue’s SEAL Kids program. If he asked her out now, she’d say yes and wear a dress to boot.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply…” She found herself unable to finish her sentence.

“Yes, you did,” he said, moving away to the kitchen. “And I accept your apology.”

Colleen looked at him wide-eyed.

“Don’t look so surprised, Chief McCabe. I’ve been accused of far worse. I admire the passion you showed in confronting what you perceived as a wrong. Most people wouldn’t do that, especially with me.”

“I guess I’m not like most people,” she said with a weak smile.

“No, you’re not.” Pinky admired her for a moment, then removed a pen from his pocket. “So, shall we get to what brought you here?”

Colleen’s brows furrowed with uncertainty.

“I believe there’s the business of paying a fine,” he said, uncapping his fountain pen.

Oh yes, the fine. She pulled a pad from her back pocket. They may be from different planets, but she had to respect Pinky’s moral code. Colleen wrote out the fine; Pinky signed it; she handed him his copy; and he walked her to the door. When she stepped onto the trailer’s landing, he touched her arm.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” she asked.

“An interesting visit. It’s the one thing I can count on from you, Chief McCabe,” he said and winked.

Colleen grinned, put on her sunglasses, and descended the stairs. It’s the one thing I can count on from you, too, Antonio Salvatore, she thought, and crossed the lot to her SUV.

The news of Little Bobby
selling the Crepe property to Pinky Salvatore whirled in Colleen’s head. It had only been a little over two weeks since Myrtle’s “death.” If Bobby was grieving for his mother, buying a motorcycle and selling the family home was an unusual way of showing it. She wondered how Bobby had managed to get the ball rolling on the sale of the house so swiftly. Changing a property title wasn’t necessarily an easy or quick thing.

When Colleen was in her mid-twenties, she and her mother had inherited a condominium from an aunt in Tampa, Florida. Since neither of them wanted to move to a retirement community, they had decided to sell the condo. Unfortunately, because of the way the will had been written, the property had had to go through probate. It took eighteen months before the circuit court clerk for Pinellas County signed off on the estate and freed them to put the condo on the market. Colleen hoped Myrtle’s will was drawn up in a similar fashion so that the sale of the house would be delayed. If not, Myrtle might lose her home. If Myrtle lost her home, she’d end up living with Colleen indefinitely—something Colleen didn’t relish.

She felt obligated to tell Myrtle about what she had learned about Bobby’s negotiations with Pinky but was worried about how Myrtle would react to the news. Myrtle would certainly want to confront her son and the only way she could do that would be by coming out of hiding. However, doing that would put Myrtle in danger. Colleen wished she could keep the information about Bobby selling the house to herself, but keeping secrets had already done enough damage.

She checked her watch. She had sufficient time to swing by her house and look in on Myrtle before heading to the station. With any luck, Nellie would be gone and she and Myrtle could speak freely. If not, she’d have to save the house sale conversation for later.

She drove the short distance up Ocean Trail to the turnoff for her property. She was surprised to see Bill’s SUV parked in front of her house. She pulled in next to Bill and threw her SUV into park. She hopped out and was startled when the door to his car suddenly swung open.

“Bill,” she said with a gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just, um, checking…” he said.

Bill paced between their vehicles. She walked around her car to eliminate the barrier between them. “Checking what?”

“I called your cell. Antonio Salvatore answered.”

Colleen searched her pockets. No phone. “It must have fallen out in his trailer.”

“I suppose you’ll have to go back to get it then?” Bill asked rather forcefully.

“I suppose.”

Colleen studied Bill as he alternately put his hands in and took them out of his pockets. His mood seemed a combination of irritation and anxiety. Normally, she’d ask him what was on his mind but, given their recent conflict, didn’t feel he’d offer her an explanation. At least they were talking, even if somewhat awkwardly.

“With everything that’s been going on lately, I wanted to make sure things were okay,” he said, regaining his composure and assuming a professional tone.

Somewhere in the back of Colleen’s mind she hoped that Bill had driven to her house because he was concerned about her. Instead, he was just doing his job. “Would you like to come inside?” she asked, hiding her disappointment. “You can check on Myrtle and be on your way.”

Bill nodded and indicated she should lead. Colleen walked up the steps and opened the front door. “Hello?” she called as they entered.

Colleen heard the rapid click of nails on hardwood. Seconds later, Sparky bounded around the corner, his tail wagging. “Hey there,” she said and rubbed the dog’s side.

Bill closed the door behind them.

“Hello?” Myrtle said from inside the bathroom in her normal, non-Mitch speaking voice.

“It’s just me and Sheriff Dorman, Myrtle.”

The bathroom door opened and Myrtle emerged. She was no longer wearing the mustache but was still dressed in Colleen’s father’s clothes. “I know who blew up my house,” she said, storming toward them.

Colleen and Bill exchanged looks of surprise. “Who?” they asked in unison.

“Nellie Byrd!”

“Oh, come on,” Colleen said.

“I’m telling you, she did it,” Myrtle said in a huff.

“Why don’t we take a seat at the kitchen table,” Colleen said.

“I don’t need to sit.”

“It’s been a long morning. Indulge me.”

“It sounds like a good idea, Mrs. Crepe,” Bill said.

“Fine.”

Figures she’d listen when Bill asked her, Colleen thought. After all she and Myrtle had been through, Myrtle still deferred to the authority of a man.

“Can I get anyone something to drink?” she asked as the group entered the kitchen.

“Nothing for me,” Bill said, standing at the head of the table near the window.

“I’ll take a whiskey sour,” Myrtle said.

“You’ll have water.”

“If that’s my only option,” Myrtle said and took a seat at the table with a dramatic sweep.

“Why do you think Nellie set your house on fire?” Bill asked as Colleen filled the glasses.

“She told me Colleen gave her the Society documents this week.”

“I did,” Colleen said, bringing three glasses to the table.

“Those documents belong with me. I’m the president.”

“Not as long as you’re dead, you’re not,” she said.

Even though Bill had declined a beverage, he took one of the glasses and gulped down the water. Colleen suppressed a satisfied smile. Smokey appeared from around the corner and jumped into Myrtle’s lap.

“Smokey, no,” she said, reaching for the cat.

Myrtle moved her arm protectively around the Siamese. “It’s okay.”

“She’s not allowed up like that at the table, Myrtle.”

“She likes it,” Myrtle said, squeezing the cat and rubbing her cheek.

To Colleen’s annoyance Smokey curled into Myrtle’s lap and purred loudly with smug satisfaction. She stared at the cat in defeat. It was going to take weeks after Myrtle left to retrain the stubborn Siamese.

“Could we forget about the cat?” Bill asked with irritation.

Colleen and Myrtle looked at him with surprise.

“Mrs. Crepe, I don’t see how you can draw the conclusion that Nellie Byrd burned your house down just to get possession of the Society’s documents.”

“So you aren’t going to arrest her?”

“This seems like more of a personal than a police matter.”

“Besides,” Colleen said, “I thought you two were getting along.”

“We were … until Mitch came along. I think she likes him better than me.”

“You
are
Mitch.”

“Nellie doesn’t know that.”

Bill shook his head.

“Let’s suppose, for the sake of argument, that Nellie likes you as Mitch better than she likes you as you,” Colleen said, wanting to get Myrtle back on track. “What does that have to do with your house fire?”

“Nellie told Mitch that she resented how I sometimes excluded her from Society decisions. I didn’t exclude her. I merely filtered what she did or didn’t need to know.”

“That doesn’t make her an arsonist,” Bill said.

“I’m telling you she did it!” Myrtle said, startling Smokey off her lap and sending her scurrying from the room.

“If the documents were so important to her, why would she leave them behind in your house to burn in the fire?” Colleen asked, rising from her chair. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“She was obviously willing to sacrifice the documents if it meant getting rid of me.”

Colleen was losing her patience. “You honestly believe Nellie is capable of arson and murder?”

“Who else could it be?”

“What about Bobby?” she asked, her voice rising in frustration. The second she blurted it out she wished she could take it back. This wasn’t how she had planned on breaking the news to Myrtle.

“What do you mean—what about Bobby?” Myrtle asked.

Myrtle and Bill waited. She was going to have to tell them about Bobby’s sale of the Crepe family residence. There was no way around it. “Bobby is selling your house.”

“Over my dead body,” Myrtle said, springing from her seat.

“Exactly,” Colleen said, pointedly.

Myrtle gaped at Colleen in stunned silence, then began pacing the kitchen. Sparky followed her every move, thinking he was going to get a treat.

“How do you know this?” Bill asked.

“Pinky Salvatore told me.”

“And you believe that gangster?” he asked, his face flushing red.

“Yes, I do.”

“Really, Colleen!” Myrtle said in disbelief.