Plan Bee (27 page)

So applying the same set of motives to Ford, what were his possible reasons for coming to Moraine:

• Revenge. Nope. He was the one who messed up Tom’s life, not the other way around.

• Self-protection. But then he would go into hiding, not show up where he wasn’t wanted.

• Greed. Ka-ching.

In my opinion, Ford was definitely here to steal from his brother. Or blackmail him for cash. Or murder him for his inheritance. Whatever. It had to do with Tom’s big lottery win.

Some days I’m really dense and can’t see the forest through the trees. But today I paused to consider the possibility that Ford’s mysterious partner could have played a much more major role in all of this than I’d originally thought.

Whatever the case, I was about to toss Tom’s apartment.

His place was small. I could do this fast. Nobody would know what I was up to. Patti didn’t have me on her radar. Nobody did.

The kitchen gave up nothing worthwhile. It had typical bachelor equipment and gadgets—toaster, coffeemaker, microwave, electric can opener, toaster oven—all lined up in a row on the counter. Not much in the drawers or cabinets, either.

Bathroom and living room. Nada out of the ordinary, only the basics.

Next, the bedroom. And since he was dating my mother, it better be as dull as the rest of his apartment. It was, thank God.

He didn’t have a desk or a pile of bills lying around. A two-drawer file cabinet in the closet contained tax returns from prior years and other important papers. But not a single bank statement, extra checks, or any keys.

In the basement, I gazed at his tool work area in dismay. Canning jars filled with nails and bolts and whatnots, tools hanging from Peg-Boards, a workbench with drawers crammed full of antique restoration materials.

It would take me a lifetime to go through all of it looking for something as tiny as a key.

Dinky started whining from the kitchen, letting me know she’d had enough alone time.

I’d failed to accomplish one of my goals. I hadn’t been able to search the locked room.

But I’d accomplished the other.

I was pretty sure Tom Stocke didn’t have a bank account.

Back at the store, Mom was holding down the fort. Grams and her car were gone. Several customers were shopping inside. I shooed Carrie Ann away from the back room computer where she was “updating inventory like a manager-in-training would if she was about to be promoted.”

I went up front and worked with Mom and Carrie Ann while ideas churned inside my head. What if Tom caught Ford inside his house? They struggled. Things got deadly. Tom strangled his brother. Suddenly Ford was dead, and Tom was frantic. In a panic, he grabbed a garbage bag and dragged Ford’s body through backyards and alleys, staying in the shadows. As he passed through the cemetery, he saw me coming with Dinky, ran and hid, then came back and finished what he started by returning Ford to the house he was staying at.

And stuffed him in the fireplace, thinking he’d burn him later.

If I was a jury, that last part especially would make me want to throw a few more logs on that fire and roast Tom.

I hoped there was a better explanation for why Ford
was in the fireplace.

Just then, Lori Spandle came into the store still wearing that stupid hockey helmet. I had just deposited Dinky in the back for a little nap. Which was a good thing, since dogs weren’t allowed in the store and Lori would try to cause trouble for me if she knew.

“What were you doing inside Tom Stocke’s house?” she demanded.

“I wasn’t,” I lied. Lori was almost as bad as Patti at snooping where she didn’t belong.

Of course, my mother overheard us. “What do you mean you weren’t in his house?” she said to me, then to Lori, “She helped me gather up some of Tom’s things, not that it’s really any of your business.”

Lori’s helmeted head swung toward Mom. “You weren’t with her this morning,” she said.

“Story?” Mom said, raising an eyebrow.

“I forgot my cell phone over there,” I stammered, digging it out of my pocket and flashing it.

“A whole bunch of us are taking bets outside,” Lori said.

“Bets?”

“Over what stupid kind of lie you’ll try to feed us to explain this one.”

My heart leaped into my throat. What would I say to them? How could I explain?

Mom glared at Lori, giving her the same evil eye she usually reserved for me. “You have some nerve,” she said. “Causing trouble at our store!”

Our
store! I didn’t miss the implication, but I had other issues to deal with at the moment.

I hustled over to the front door and popped my head out. Absolutely nobody was outside. I gritted my teeth, clenching
them hard so I wouldn’t explode and say something I’d regret later. I really wanted to rip that helmet off Lori’s head and thunk her with it. Or jab a honey stick through the face cage and poke her in the eye.

I caught the smirk she gave me as she turned toward the aisles. I considered banning her from my store right along with her sister.

Lori was turning out to be the bane of my existence. Even over Johnny Jay. She sure knew how to push my buttons, even worse than the police chief. Maybe Hunter would help me figure out how to shut Lori up for good, get her permanently out of my face.

While I walked to the library with replacement beads, I thought about whether Patti was right about me being overly dependent on Hunter.

Holly has a few irrational fears, but when she’s faced with other kinds of conflict, my sister tackles the problem head-on. She might be scared silly of bees, but that woman can take down an opponent in such a way and so fast that she’d make Hulk Hogan proud. Give her a fight and she’s all over it.

And Patti. What a tough woman. She whines incessantly, that’s true, but give her a mission and she’s every bit as aggressive as V.I. Warshawski, only without the skin-tight outfit and high heels.

Then there’s Carrie Ann. She’s had her internal demons, but she fought them and won. And she isn’t afraid of conflict, either. She’ll wade in and defend herself or anybody she cares about.

All three of my friends are survivors who tackle life head-on.

What about me? Was my relationship with Hunter making me too soft? Was I leaning on him too much, letting him fight my battles for me? Oh my gawd! I was!

How many times have I called him for help? I tried to count and gave up.

I entered the library and greeted my favorite librarian.

“Hi, Story,” Emily said. “Any word on Noel?”

“He’s back. The kid got preoccupied with some project and lost track of time.”

Emily beamed. “That’s wonderful news! And what’s the word on Tom Stocke?”

“Emily, you probably know more than I do. You get as much inside information here at the library as I do at The Wild Clover.”

“Only sometimes. And it’s been quiet this morning. I hadn’t heard the good news about Noel yet and nothing new on Tom, either. I haven’t even seen the police chief cruising past. It’s like the calm before the storm.”

“I hope not.” My eyes swept through the library. “Where’s Karin? I have beads for the scarf repair.”

“She stayed home today with a summer cold. The worst kind, those summer colds. They last forever.” Emily took the beads from me. “The scarf’s still here. I’ll put these beads with it and take the works over to her later today.”

“There’s no rush. Wait until she feels better.”

Emily had reading glasses around her neck, hanging from a gold chain. She slipped the glasses on and checked a shelf below the counter. “Now I remember,” she said. “I left it on my desk.”

While Emily hustled away, I looked for a book, something in the self-help department.

As soon as Emily returned, I said, “Can you recommend a book to help with aggression?”

“Somebody at the store acting out?” She shook her head. “Bullies are a big topic these days.”

“No, I meant for me.” I felt like I was admitting a deep, dark secret. “I need to toughen up. Get more aggressive.”

Emily laughed lightly. “You mean you want to become more assertive?”

“Right.”

What had started as a little chuckle on her part turned
into an all-out laugh. Weren’t librarians trained to maintain a certain dignified and compassionate composure, not laugh right in somebody’s face?

“What?” I said, feeling offended.

“Story, you have enough spunk for a roomful of people.”

“I do?”

“If you had any more, this town wouldn’t be big enough for you.”

I decided to take that as a compliment and gave Emily an ear-to-ear grin.

But then she said, “I don’t know where your scarf went. I’m almost positive I put it on my desk. But now it’s not there.”

I stopped in front of Tom’s antique store on the way back to The Wild Clover, and stared at the closed sign. If Tom went to prison for murder, what would happen to his business? I pictured a sale sign in the window and Lori working it for all it was worth to get a big commission. What if Aggie Petrie bought it? I shuddered at the thought of that woman as a business associate.

And what about Mom? Would she revert to the sharp-tongued, judgmental, pessimistic woman from my past? Right now, like Grams had said, Mom was hopeful, still convinced that Tom would go free, that justice would prevail. She’d have a reality check soon. Then what?

I turned my eyes to the street just in time to see a Speedy Delivery truck approaching. When I spotted Bob Petrie behind the wheel, I stepped off the curb to flag him down.

He ignored me, pretending like I didn’t exist. I stepped out further into the street.

I never would have tried a stunt like that if I didn’t have
witnesses on the sidewalk. After our last encounter, Bob would have run me down for sure if he thought he could get away with it.

The truck screeched to a halt.

Walking quickly around to the driver’s side, I heard the door locks slam into place. The window came down a fraction of an inch. “Stay away from me,” Bob said.

“We need to talk.”

“Where’s crazy Dwyre?” Bob’s head swung around looking for Patti.

“She’s not here. I only want to apologize for any pain we caused you.”

Bob was wary, but at least he wasn’t speeding off. “That woman is nuts. But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

I really wanted to ask him if he knew Ford Stocke, and if he was Ford’s partner in whatever scheme Tom’s brother had been here to carry out. I just couldn’t think of the right way to present the questions.

Bob had a cigarette tucked behind his visor. He reached up to get it and I almost let out a squeal when I noticed the tattoo on his upper arm.

“I have stuff to deliver,” Bob said. “You’re wasting my time.”

“No, wait!” I said, trying to regain my composure. But Bob left me standing in his exhaust fumes.

Wondering why he had a tattoo of a hickory nut on his arm.

Before I had time to work on implications, Sally Maylor’s squad car pulled up, and Tom Stocke got out of the passenger seat.

I turned when I heard my mother’s voice calling his name from the direction of my store.

She trotted down the sidewalk, a big happy face, her arms extended, just like something out of a movie. They met and embraced.

“What’s going on?” I asked Sally, who got out and stood next to me, taking in the scene.

“Bailed out,” she said.

“Who posted his bail?”

“He did.”

That surprised me, since I’d decided this morning that all his cash was in a locked safe in his basement. How did he do that?

“Cash?” I asked.

Sally gave me a hard look. “Guess again,” she said.

“Check?”

“We don’t take them.”

“Credit card?”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

So that explained it. He didn’t need to get to his box yet. My hunch still might be right.

Mom and Tom finally broke their clench. Mom gave me a tiny hand wave from her cuddle position inside Tom’s arm. They walked right past us and disappeared behind the antique store heading for the back apartment.

“Judge decided he wasn’t a flight risk,” Sally said. “Johnny Jay is hopping mad.”

“I can imagine.”