Authors: Nancy Martin
Two minutes later, Bug’s battered cruiser took the corner too fast, bumped the curb, and careened into the parking lot. He parked carelessly, got out, and walked over to me.
I offered him my Coke. “Looks like you need to cool down, Detective.”
He ripped off his sunglasses and glared. “Just what the hell have you been doing?”
“Sit down. Relax.”
“I don’t feel like sitting with you.” His voice was icy. “Want to know who I interviewed this morning?”
“Can I buy a vowel?”
“Your uncle Carmine. And he had some interesting things to tell me. About you.”
That didn’t sound good.
22
He said, “You were hired to kidnap Clarice Crabtree.”
“That’s not true.”
“The hell it isn’t!”
“Now, Bug—”
“Your mobbed-up uncle told me himself. Said you were supposed to kidnap Clarice the night she was murdered.”
“Nobody hired me. I turned down the job.”
“But you knew it was going to happen.”
“No.” I got to my feet. “As far as I knew, they couldn’t find anyone to do it, so—”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“I don’t know. All I saw was a photocopied letter.”
“Who showed you the letter? Carmine?”
“Yes, Carmine.” If the old crook could throw me under the bus, I could do the same to him. “Indirectly.”
“What were the details?”
“There was a phone number.”
“Who answered?”
“I didn’t call.”
“How much money was exchanged?”
“None that I know of.”
“Why was Clarice the target?”
“I don’t know any of these answers, Bug! Someone was supposed to make a phone call for instructions, but it wasn’t me. I rejected the job at the very beginning.”
“And just when were you going to mention all of this to me?” Bug demanded.
“Probably never,” I shot back.
“And you don’t see anything wrong with that? Why were you at Clarice’s house the night she was snatched?”
“I went to see her because I knew somebody wanted to kidnap her.”
“You went to watch?”
“To warn her! But I didn’t have enough time. She had to rush to a meeting. And besides,” I added, “she was a pain in the ass.”
Bug stared. “You didn’t warn her because of some high school grudge?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Did you see who grabbed her?”
“Of course not. I’d have told you if I had.”
“Oh, really? That’s the point when your conscience kicks in?”
Bug turned away, muttering under his breath. At that moment, Sage came out of the restaurant. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed across the parking lot in the direction of the Escalade. Bug’s gaze sharpened on her.
“Is that—?”
Then his attention traveled past Sage to the vehicle.
He spun around with fresh outrage. “For God’s sake, on top of everything else you stole your daughter’s boyfriend’s car?”
“What car?”
Bug cursed and yanked out his cell phone. “I don’t know why I bother trying with you. I ignored what everybody was saying at the station house. I thought you could clean up your act, be a normal human being. I thought you had a heart. But you’re as screwed up as ever, aren’t you? With a twisted sense of right and wrong. Just like your crooked uncle.”
“Sometimes things happen,” I said. “Sometimes going to the cops is the wrong thing to do.”
“This time it was the right thing,” he said. “I’m finished standing up for you, Roxy. You’re a hustler on the edge of the law. Well, this time you can go to jail, for all I care.”
He punched in a call and spoke tersely into his phone. Whoever was on the other end of the line heard exactly where a stolen Escalade with the
SQUISHY
plate could be found.
Sage spotted me and changed direction, happily heading my way.
I thought fast.
About then, a city bus pulled up, and a half a dozen passengers straggled off. Two university students headed in the direction of the campuses, but the others mingled on the sidewalk for a moment, aimless. Among them, I spotted a youngish guy who looked every inch a panhandler—shoes held together with duct tape, shapeless clothes that needed time in a Laundromat, bushy hair, and a face that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks.
While Bug snapped orders on his cell phone, I pulled a ten-dollar bill from my pocket.
With the instinct of a pigeon catching sight of a shiny object, the panhandler spotted the ten and ambled toward me.
Sage reached my side about the same time.
“Sweetheart,” I said to her, “got a piece of paper and a pencil?”
From her backpack, my daughter obediently produced both, and I scribbled a fast note.
I handed the ten and the note to the panhandler and pointed him in the direction of the restaurant. “Grab yourself a burger,” I said to him. “And while you’re at it, could you give this note to the nice lady at the cash register?”
He headed straight for the front door.
Bug snapped off his phone and swung on us. But Sage’s arrival startled him, and he quickly smothered his anger at me. “Sage, right?”
My daughter smiled up at him, relaxed and confident that all was right with the world. “Hi, yes.” She put out her hand to shake his.
He took it automatically, and I could see him struggling with the instinct to be nice to a pleasant teenager while wanting to strangle me with his bare hands.
I said, “This is Detective Duffy, Sage. He used to be a friend of mine.”
“Oh,” Sage said, “one of my girlfriends babysits for you sometimes. Bailey Jones.”
“Right, yeah, Bailey. Nice kid.”
“She loves your boys. Says they’re a lot of fun.”
“Thanks.”
While they made small talk, I could see the anger drain out of Bug. He couldn’t stay mad.
But I held my breath, hoping the scene would play out the way I hoped.
Another cop car arrived. And another and another. They were soon swarming the place, lights flashing. Officers jumped from their cruisers. But instead of surrounding the Escalade, they converged and made a dash for the front door of the restaurant.
“What in the world—?” Sage looked around. “What’s going on?”
A mob of customers came running out of the restaurant, hands waving, lots of yelling. Bug noticed the growing chaos and turned.
Another police vehicle barreled into the parking lot, and Bug flagged him down. “What’s happening?”
“Robbery in progress,” the cop reported.
“Robbery!” Sage cried.
Bug forgot about us and headed for the restaurant.
“That’s our cue,” I said to Sage. “Let’s get out of here before they block off the parking lot.”
I bustled Sage over to the Escalade, and we climbed in. Half a minute later, I was steering the big vehicle through the maze of haphazardly abandoned cop cars, and we hit the street at last. I floored the accelerator and headed away from the restaurant.
Buckling her seatbelt, Sage said to me, “Mom, what was that note you gave the homeless guy?”
I decided not to tell Sage.
But I’d written, “This is a holdup.”
Hey, it bought me enough time to escape being arrested for grand theft auto.
When we arrived back at the salvage yard, Rooney scrambled over Sage to get out of the truck. She climbed out more slowly, and by the time we reached the hood of the Escalade, Zack was outside, blinking in the sunlight.
“What are you doing here?” Sage asked him.
“Why aren’t you in school?” he said in the same tone.
“What, you’re suddenly my dad? I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“That goes both ways.”
I said, “Stop it, you two. I’ve had an extremely long day already.”
“You haven’t tried ordering pizza for picky eaters,” Zack said. “What the hell is a vegan, exactly? That Japanese girl is nuts.”
“She’s not Japanese,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Is everything okay? They’re safe?”
“Yeah, sure. No problems.”
“Okay, thanks. Round them up now,” I told him. “This place isn’t secure anymore.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We have to find somewhere else for everyone. At least for a few hours.”
“Speaking of hours,” Zack said. “I have to be at work by three. Stadium security for the Dooce concert.”
“That’s tonight already?”
I checked my watch. Stony wanted me backstage by five. But first priority was getting Clarice’s kids stowed someplace where their mother’s killer couldn’t find them. I considered calling Bug for that. After all, the kids would be better protected by the police. But I had to ditch the Escalade first. I didn’t want Zack taking the blame for stealing it.
Plus I needed to figure out something to wear to the concert.
“Let’s take everybody over to my place. Zack, go get the kids. Tell Nooch I want him to drive the Monster Truck. I’ll take the Escalade.”
“Got it.” Zack turned tail and strode back inside.
Sage had watched the whole exchange without a word. But she looked thoughtful as Zack disappeared purposefully into my office.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her. “We’ve had a few problems this morning.”
When Zack herded everyone out, I grabbed Richie Eckelstine. “How’s your expertise with men’s fashion?”
“What?”
“Nooch needs a suit for a wedding tomorrow. If I sent you with him to the Goodwill store, could you help him pick out something that won’t look stupid?”
Richie gave Nooch a practiced glance. “It’s a challenge.”
“A big one, I know.”
The kid lifted his chin, undaunted. “I’ll give it a shot.”
I produced my last few dollars and handed them over to Richie. “No bow ties. I don’t want him looking like a dancing bear.”
“I get it.”
He turned away, but I grabbed him one more time.
“Another thing,” I said.
He waited.
He waited a little more.
Finally, he prompted, “Another thing?”
Although I’d rather poke a fork in my eye than say so, I admitted, “I need something to wear tonight. To a concert.”
“The symphony?” Richie inquired, one brow raised.
“Listen, smart-ass, I could turn you loose with your obnoxious little sister anytime.”
“Okay, okay, but I need more to go on.”
“I’m singing. I’m singing backup for Dooce at his concert tonight.”
Richie’s bland expression gave way to something akin to being impressed. “No kidding?”
“Normally, I wear jeans and a sweatshirt. But I was thinking–”
He began shaking his head before I got any further. “No, no, don’t think. Leave it to me. I’ll find something for you.”
“I don’t want to look like an idiot,” I cautioned.
“No dancing-bear outfit, you mean?”
“I’m no twenty-year-old sweet tart, either.”
“I get it,” he said. “Can I have my shirt back?”
I released him at last.
We split up. Nooch and Richie took the Monster Truck and went off to the nearest thrift store. Zack and I got into the front of the Escalade, Sage and Sugar into the backseat. Sugar was busy using her phone again. Did she never stop?
My cell phone rang, and I checked the screen. Loretta.
Her name prompted a surge of resentment. The least she could have done was mention sending Flynn off to the marines so long ago. But she’d kept it a secret for a lot of years. I needed time to process what I’d learned.
I let her call go to voice mail, but the phone rang again almost immediately. Infuriated, I opened the phone and snapped, “What do you want?”
“Roxy? It’s Tito calling. From the museum?”
“Sure. Hi, Tito. Sorry, I thought—never mind. What’s up?”
“You sound a little touchy, darling.”
“It’s been an interesting day.”
“For me, too, as a matter of fact. Do you have time to stop in? I have something to discuss.”
“Well, actually, I’ve got a few too many irons in the fire at the moment. Can it wait?”
“Of course. It’s just that I was really shocked by Clarice Crabtree’s murder—especially since you and I were talking about her shortly before her death.”
“I know, crazy coincidence, right?”
“I hope that’s what it was.” Tito cleared his throat. “Meanwhile, something interesting has happened I thought you’d like to hear about.”
Suddenly I was all ears. “Let me guess. It’s about dinosaur bones.”
“In a way, yes. Richard Eckelstine tried to sneak into our facility yesterday.”
“Say what?”
“Oddly enough, he was trying to return something.”
I thought of Eckelstine’s heavy backpack. “Tell me more.”
“He tried to break in, but unfortunately, he tripped the backup security system. He was discovered with a large bone from our collection. So I did a little digging.” Tito paused. “That’s archaeology humor, Roxy.”
“Hilarious.”
“Yes, well, I looked into our inventory records. I discovered that Clarice Crabtree had signed out a number of items from the megafauna department. Over the last several years, Clarice systematically removed over two dozen valuable bones from the museum’s collection.”
“I bet she didn’t keep them for herself.”
“You seem to be a step ahead of me.”
“She sold the bones?” I said.
“How did you guess?”
I guessed because if I had my hands on some valuable dinosaur bones, I’d probably find a lucrative way to get rid of them myself.
Tito went on. “I can’t make specific accusations, of course. Not until her office gets a thorough going-over. But judging by her husband’s eagerness to return a very large vertebra yesterday, I assume Clarice stole and sold a lot of items.”
“Why would her husband return a vert—a verta—one of those things you said?”
“He’s a scientist with a moral code. I think he discovered what his wife had done and was trying to do the right thing. He was returning something she stole.”
“If he wanted to protect her reputation, he was a little late.”
“There’s more,” Tito said in my ear. He dropped his voice as if someone might be eavesdropping. “After the Eckelstine incident, I looked through our really old records. Before the catalog was put on computer. We have old ledger books dating back to the days when the museum first opened for business. I found information dating back to the days when Professor Crabtree was associated with the institution.”