Murder on the Toy Town Express Page 12

  “Oh, for the love of . . .” Reynolds started.

  “He’s a closet brony!” I said, laughing in spite of myself. I wasn’t the only one laughing. The uniformed cops gave up trying to hide it.

  “What’s a brony?” Reynolds asked.

  “It’s a combination of bro and pony,” I said. “Adult men who like My Little Ponies.” I shook my head. “And I shouldn’t laugh. Nothing wrong with being a brony. There are far worse hobbies. It just took me by surprise, is all. Most bronies are good people.”

  “That’s for real?”

  “They have an annual convention,” Dad said. “Brings in over ten thousand, last I heard, from all over the world.”

  “Ten thousand men . . . dressed like that?” Reynolds pointed at the frozen screen.

  “Some don’t cosplay at all,” I said, “and some dress up as other pop-culture characters. And before you ask, no, it has nothing to do with sexual preference. There are both gay and straight bronies. They just like the show. There are women too. Some call themselves bronies. Others call themselves Pegasisters. And there are more bronies in the area than care to admit to it. We do a fair trade in ponies.”

  Eventually the smiles and smirks stopped, and the mood grew somber again. We watched as Dad jumped from camera to camera as Kelley hit the toy vendors, picking up an armful of My Little Pony paraphernalia, always leaving cash behind and the tablecloths replaced neatly over the merchandise.

  “Do we see him leave?” Reynolds asked.

  “Yes,” Dad said. “He takes his bounty into the employee lounge, opens a locker, and stuffs all his . . . purchases into a duffel bag, plus more he’d apparently kept there. He then opens another locker and urinates in my uniform shoes.”

  I looked down to see Dad wearing his sneakers. “Ew.”

  Dad shrugged it off. “If that was the worst thing anyone’s tried to do to me, I’d say I’ve lived a charmed life. But then he takes his stuff and leaves, locking the door behind him.”

  “He didn’t want to be seen with the My Little Pony stuff,” I said, “so he came back at night when he didn’t think anyone would be here.”

  “And the other two just took advantage of that fact, yes,” Dad said. “They were very clever to avoid most of the cameras. It’s only after Kelley leaves that this happens.” Dad called up a bit of footage. At first, there was a clear shot of the comic booth, and then the camera tipped up so that it was focused elsewhere.

  “So they were on the catwalks?” I asked.

  “Must have climbed up there somehow,” Dad said. “We could check for prints.”

  “We got them coming in where they’re not supposed to be,” Reynolds said. “Trespassing, at least.”

  “But we also have this,” Dad said. “They got cocky and missed a camera. Here’s an angle they weren’t counting on.” Dad rolled more tape.

  The two men were skulking toward the door. One had something in his hand. Dad paused the video, and we all squinted at the screen.

  “It’s a comic book,” I said.

  “That’s criminal trespassing.” Reynolds smiled.

  “It’s still a far cry from murder,” Dad said.

  “Yeah, but while we got them, we might be able to get a search warrant to look for the missing comic books,” Reynolds said. “Maybe we’ll luck out and find something else. But we wouldn’t be able to hold them long on those charges.”

  “But if you don’t take them in now,” Dad countered, “how do you know they don’t ride off into the sunset right after the show ends?”

  “They’re still here?” Reynolds asked.

  Dad nodded, called up the security cameras in real time, and a few moments later pointed out the two suspects.

  Reynolds gestured to his men. “Go get ’em.” He saluted my dad. “Let me know if you catch anything else. On the video, I mean. I’ll be back for those tapes later.”

  “Will do.”

  As they filed out to make their arrest, I stood behind Dad’s chair to watch. Before the cops approached the men, Ken opened the door and joined us. “What happened?” he asked.

  Dad pointed to where the arrest was taking place. But another face on a different monitor drew my attention. Jack Wallace was back at the show. He wore a heavy sweater yet carried a bulky coat draped oddly over one arm. And he looked nervous, not that I could see his facial expression in the camera, but his movements were stiff and jerky.

  “Got them!” Ken said, obvious pride in his voice.

  “I only hope you can hold them,” Dad said. “They’re going to lawyer up pretty quick.”

  “Liz?” Ken asked.

  I waved him off. I was still following Jack as he navigated the crowded maze of aisles.

  “What are you looking at?” Dad asked.

  Ken spotted him first. “What’s he doing here? Looking for you?”

  I shook my head. He was headed straight toward the comic booth. He stopped short. Where the comic booth had been, large fabric dividers had been set up.

  “I did that,” Dad said, anticipating my question. “So the police could process the area without being disturbed by the show, and vice versa.”

  “Is anyone there now?” I asked.

  “I think they finished up a while ago,” Dad said. “It didn’t make sense to remove the barriers if the booth wasn’t going to reopen.”

  Jack stood in front of the curtains for a while, looking—or pretending to look—at the nearest train layout. He nodded to a passing shopper, then ducked behind the drapes.

  “Let’s go,” Dad said. Ken and I followed him, taking a shortcut through a side hallway not open to the public. When we emerged, Jack was just coming out of the draped off area, his jacket now hanging limply at his side.

  “Jack!”

  He looked up. If guilt had been written on his face, it would’ve been in all caps and in indelible ink, followed by a blushing emoji.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  But Dad and Ken forged ahead and pushed aside the draping.

  “Liz,” Ken said.

  I looked away from where Jack was now hanging his head. There in the booth, sitting on top of the previously ransacked table, was a stack of graded comics, still in their plastic cases.

  “I can explain,” Jack said. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “I don’t know what it looks like,” I said. “But a lot of people went through a whole lot of trouble to find those comics, including possibly killing a man.” I put my hands over my mouth. “What have you done?”

  Jack sent me a pained look. “I just found them.”

  “Let me call Reynolds,” Ken said.

  “Maybe we should go to the office and talk about it,” Dad said.

  “How much trouble am I in?” Jack asked, keeping his focus on Dad.

  “It depends,” Dad said, trying to hold off Ken who had already pulled out his phone. “Where did you find them?”

  Jack’s gaze swept the room, looking first at Ken, then Dad, and finally at me. Then he pinched his eyes shut. “In Terry’s room.”

  Chapter 13

  Ken put away his phone at Dad’s suggestion, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.

  Instead of heading to the security office, Dad led us to the empty employee lounge. He fed coins into the vending machine to buy a bag of Doritos and tossed it on the table. He had apparently remembered Jack’s fondness for the chips. But if he was trying to soften Jack up, his effort was probably wasted. Any softer and Jack would be blubbering all over the place.

  Jack didn’t touch the chips, though. He was too busy clenching the arms of the chair and not looking any of us in the eye.

  Dad pulled up a seat. “Might as well tell us all about it.”

  Jack pitched forward, his forehead now resting on his fists. “I wanted to believe him.” He looked up. “I still want to believe him.”

  While Ken paced the other side of the room, I pushed my chair closer to Jack’s. “What did Terry have to say about
the comics? Did he confess?”

  “To taking them, yes. But not to stealing them.” Jack turned to Ken. “How much trouble could he be in?”

  “Well,” Ken said, still pacing, “considering the police just arrested two suspected mobsters for the same offense, and of course they’ll hire the best lawyers in the country in what will no doubt be a successful attempt to make our entire force look as adept as Sheriff Amos Tupper . . . Even if I’m not there to throw the book at your brother, someone on the force will be more than happy to.”

  “Amos Tupper?” Jack asked.

  “Sheriff in Cabot Cove,” I said. “Murder, She Wrote. Half the town dead. Sheriff couldn’t solve a thing without the help of a retired school teacher turned mystery novelist. No action figures, but we do have the board game in stock.”

  “There’s a board game?” Ken asked. “Seriously?”

  “You a fan?”

  “Let’s just say I have an unusual attraction for amateur sleuths,” he replied with a sheepish grin.

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  “Let’s get back to the subject at hand,” Dad said to Jack. “I know you love your brother, but he could be in a lot of trouble. You could be in trouble for helping him. We’re talking a felony.”

  “But they’re just comic books,” Jack said.

  “That are worth over ninety grand,” Dad said softly.

  Jack blanched. “I . . .” He started choking. I bought a bottle of water from the vending machine and handed it to him.

  “You didn’t know they were worth that much,” I said. “Did Terry?”

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t think so. He didn’t act like it was such a big deal when I confronted him. He said he found them somewhere.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “He told me he stepped out for a smoke—another bad habit he picked up in prison—and they were lying by the door.”

  I looked at Dad. “You know, that actually makes sense. I didn’t see any point on the camera footage where Terry might’ve taken them from the booth.”

  “I should really call it in,” Ken said.

  “Wait!” Dad and Jack said at the same time.

  I knew why Jack didn’t want that to happen, but Ken sent my father a curious look.

  “Think about this for a moment,” Dad urged, his face grim. “What is going to happen immediately after you call?”

  “They’ll have to let those two guys go,” Ken said.

  “And no judge is going to issue a search warrant for their hotel room once that happens,” Dad said.

  Ken froze in place. “You’re asking me not to report this? To risk the reputation of the police department on a gamble? To hide the fact that we’ve recovered stolen merchandise?”

  “Are you even sure these are the comic books you’re looking for?” I asked.

  “Don’t pull an Obi-Wan on me,” Ken said.

  “What Liz is saying makes a lot of sense,” Dad said. “That’s your protection, right there—you haven’t had a good look at them. Should it come into question later, that’s your out.”

  “Besides,” I said, “you look pretty off-duty to me.”

  “I can’t turn a blind eye to this,” Ken said, resuming his pacing.

  “Not asking you to,” I said. “Just . . . delay it a little. Give it until morning. Let Jack and Terry take the comic books to the police station. If they surrender them voluntarily, it looks better for Terry.”

  Jack sent me an appreciative glance.

  Dad nodded and added, “By then, the police would’ve executed their search warrant. And hopefully a second if they uncover anything related to the murder.”

  “Murder?” Jack said, his eyes getting wide again. “Craig? I thought that was an accident.”

  I laid my hand on his. “Did you or Terry have any recent dealings with Craig?”

  Jack shrugged. “Saw him at some of the games.”

  “Youth sports?”

  Jack nodded. “You know I sponsor a team. Or rather, the restaurant does. So does Craig. Usually in the championships, our teams went head to head.”

  “Friendly rivalry?” Dad asked.

  “Not always,” Jack said. “Craig could be a bit of a . . .”

  “Jerk?” I offered.

  Jack nodded. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but yeah. Taunting. Bad sportsmanship. And it’s not like he was a coach or anything. All he did was buy uniforms.”

  Ken sat down at the table opposite Jack. “Hank is right. You and Terry go to the police station and surrender those comics tomorrow. Admit you found them but didn’t know they were stolen. You just heard they were valuable.”

  “Do I take them home?”

  “No,” Dad said. “I can lock them up here. There’s a safe. Liz can go to the station with you in the morning.”

  Jack looked up at Ken.

  Ken held his hands up. “What can I do? I’m on vacation, can’t you tell? Let’s just hope the police find something . . . anything in that hotel room.”

  “I’ll talk to Terry tonight,” Jack said, finally reaching for a Dorito. “I think it’ll be okay.”

  “Jack, do you or Terry know anyone who was recently in South America? Colombia, in particular?” I asked.

  Jack immediately shook his head. “Do I want to know why?”

  “No,” Ken said, shooting me a warning glance.

  Jack gathered his coat. “See you tomorrow?” he said to me. “Nine, maybe?”

  “Nine is good,” I said.

  He spared one last curious glance at Ken, then at me, then left the room.

  Chapter 14

  Ken grabbed my hand as we started to walk aimlessly around the toy show, and I let him. He’d gone up at least two notches in my estimation by the compassion he’d shown Jack and Terry.

  Less than two hours, however, remained before the show would end. Vendors would start loading up their wares, and the hobbyists would carefully pack their elaborate train layouts and return them to the basements, attics, and garages from which they came. With two lead suspects for Craig’s murder in jail and the missing comic books found, there was nothing much for us to look for. And with the events of the last day and a half, the toys and trains had lost some of their sparkle.

  I stopped at a competitor’s booth and admired the Charlie’s Angels figures, still in their boxes. I poked Ken playfully in the arm. “Quick. Which Charlie’s Angel do I remind you of?” I offered up a goofy action pose.

  He chuckled, then stepped back to look. “Sabrina.”

  I gave him a pouty look. “Not hot enough to be Farrah, huh?”

  He put an arm around me. “Plenty hot enough.”

  “But more of a curly brunette, like Jaclyn.”

  “True,” he said, “but Sabrina was always the smart one. She was my favorite.”

  “So you honestly and truly love me for my mind?” Blame the fatigue. I’d used that fearsome L-word. No taking it back now. Maybe he’d just consider it a figure of speech. That’s what it was . . . right?

  He pulled me closer. “Yup.”

  That started my head spinning. It came closer to a declaration of love than I was ready for.

  While I was still pondering what my verbal slip and Ken’s monosyllabic response meant, if anything, to the future of our relationship—and trying to decide what I thought about that—we resumed our slow meander through the various aisles. Santa was doing a fair business with the kids, ho-ho-hoing up a storm in a jolly tenor. We stopped to watch for a few minutes as he coaxed a shy girl of maybe eight or nine into whispering in his ear, then deftly managed a rambunctious toddler who was trying to wriggle in all directions.

  “This guy’s good,” I said. I pulled out my camera to take a picture. Moments later, Santa got up, talked with his elves, and disappeared.

  “You spooked him,” Ken said. “I don’t think Santa shows up on film, anyway.”

  “I’m pretty sure that only applies to vampires,” I said, taking his hand this time as we con
tinued to stroll.

  A fair crowd was still gathered around Frank’s layout. He was hoarse from retelling the story about how Craig had fallen on it. Only now Frank had taken on heroic overtones, implying that he’d saved Craig’s life. Albeit temporarily.

  “Poor Frank,” I heard one spectator say.

  “Yeah, but he did a great job fixing it. I think the UFO was brilliant.”

  “Are those aliens to scale?” someone in the crowd asked.

  “Shape shifters,” Frank said. “That’s a real science fiction thing.” When he noticed Ken and me, he waved us over. “I heard something hinky happened at the center last night.”

  “You could say that,” Ken said.

  “You want to hear more?” Frank reached down and picked up a model locomotive. “Remember I told you that one of my engines went missing?”

  I hadn’t, but I nodded anyway, just to be polite.

  “Well, it’s back today.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t just misplace it yesterday?” Ken asked.

  Frank looked hurt. “It’d be like missing one of your kids when you loaded up the car.”

  “I’m glad it turned up.” Ken grabbed my arm and started moving away.

  “You don’t believe him?” I asked when we were out of earshot.

  “It’s just that in all my years as a cop I’ve seen families accidentally leave kids behind,” he said. “Including one happy kid who got locked in a trampoline park overnight.”

  “That would have its ups and downs.”

  Ken groaned. “You’re your father’s daughter.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions.” Even I winced at that one.

  Cathy looked tired when we approached the toy booth, even though Miles was helping.

  “Go home,” I said, giving her a hug. “We can help Miles pack up.”

  “I like that idea,” she said. She beckoned me to the back of the booth. “I didn’t want to tell anybody this morning with everything going on, but I think I had a bit of morning sickness. I’m going to have to tell Parker tonight. I won’t be able to hide it much longer.”

  “You poor thing,” I said. “Parker should be closing the shop in about twenty minutes. Go get food. Enjoy your evening. And I meant what I said—he’ll be ecstatic. Oh, and when we have a chance, remind me to tell you the story of the My Little Pony stuff.”