Murder on the Toy Town Express Read online

  “I was kind of hoping the job could be more than temporary. But even if that’s not possible, it gives me some cushion to find something new.”

  “We can’t promise anything now, Maxine,” I said. “But I’ve seen you work, and I’d definitely like to keep you. Give me some time to crunch the numbers to see if I can make that happen. There’s no guarantee we’ll get those comic books.” I eyed my father. I didn’t know what he had up his sleeve. A comic room? Where would we put it? I turned back to Maxine. “But even if that doesn’t happen, I know my sister-in-law who works the doll room might be looking for some time off in the future.”

  “So concentrate on learning the doll room. Check.”

  Maxine was a quick study the rest of the morning. It only took about ten minutes to figure out our confusing cash register. “It’s not that much different from Craig’s,” she said, ringing up a satisfied customer and sending her away with a smile.

  During a lull, she asked where we kept our cleaning supplies, and when Cathy finally came in, apologizing for being late but looking more than a little green about the gills, Maxine shadowed her in the doll room, peppering her with all kinds of intelligent questions.

  Dad quirked an eyebrow. “Who said ‘Good help is hard to find’?”

  I shook my head. “I sure hope those numbers work. If we can’t afford to keep her, who is going to tell her? And where are we going to get the money for all those comic books? More pressing, where would we put them? A comic room?” I looked around our packed storefront. We could probably put a few display racks in the front, but that’d cut into our nostalgic candy and the open space we used for game tournaments.

  “Trust me. I know what I’m doing,” he said.

  “Sorry, Dad, but the father-knows-best routine is wearing a little thin. I’m the one who pays the bills, and frankly, our creditors like it better when there’s money in the accounts to cover all those checks.”

  “Have I ever let you down yet?” He smiled his most charming smile.

  “Not exactly, but we’ve squeaked by pretty close a few times there.”

  “Yeah, well, squeaking only counts in . . . hinges. And mouse traps. And car brakes. Oh, and those slobbery little dog toys.”

  “Nice try. How about we add squeaking wheels and which one gets the oil—as in which creditor gets paid and which doesn’t?”

  He put his hands up in surrender. “I won’t sign anything or make any firm verbal commitments until we have all the numbers and have gone over them together.”

  “Deal,” I said.

  “And in the meantime, you and I can try to learn a little more about Craig and who might have killed him and why.”

  “You don’t think it was those mob guys?”

  “I think they’re connected in some way, but I don’t see how the DA’s going to press a murder charge. Yeah, so they had the scopolamine—if the toxicology proves that. But that’s not what killed Craig. There’s no evidence that was their intent, and no smoking gun to connect them to the suffocation.”

  “Someone sneaked into the hospital,” I said.

  “Or walked in, looking like they belonged,” Dad said.

  “Are there security cameras?” I asked.

  “I’m sure the police already have them, as long as they didn’t run out of space. The modern systems use DVRs, so they only keep so much information before it’s dumped. But even if they’re seen walking into the hospital, that’s a far cry from placing them in the room before Craig died. And there’s no case at all without a motive.”

  “They obviously wanted the comic books.”

  “Maybe, and that might’ve been the motive behind the whole scopolamine deal,” Dad said. “But since that didn’t kill him . . .”

  “They must have had another reason to want him dead.”

  “Maybe. But until someone figures it out soon, I have a feeling that those two birds are going to fly.”

  “What about the forensic accountant you were telling me about. This Mark Baker guy. Might he find some connection?”

  “Between Craig and the mob? You have to bet he’s going to be looking.”

  I stared at Dad for a moment. “I hate you.”

  “What did I do?”

  “Why is it all of a sudden my business? I feel like I should be out there doing something.”

  “That’s my fault?”

  “It has to be in the genes or something. Or in the water. From now on, I make the coffee.”

  “Or maybe it’s in the Clean Queen.”

  “I was at that party, but I didn’t inhale.”

  “So . . . who are we looking at? The two mob guys.” Dad scratched his head. “You’ve called them Batman-man and Grandpa so often I can’t even remember their names.”

  “Jenna Duncan isn’t off my list. Craig’s son or his mother.”

  “Anyone else?” he asked.

  “I’d like to look more into Craig’s new comic book venture, to see if anyone would profit from that.”

  “Or if he stepped on anyone’s toes.”

  “Maybe I can just bring up the topic of Craig tonight at game night,” I said, “and see what people have to say.”

  “Town meeting? I like it. What’s on the calendar for tonight? With all that’s been going on, I lost track.”

  “It’s specialty card game night.”

  Dad winked. “So you might use that to find suspect number . . .”

  “Uno.” I grinned.

  # # #

  When four forty-five came around, Cathy said, “Because I came in late today, I’m going to compensate by leaving early.”

  “Writers group?” I asked.

  “No, I’m finally going to have that certain talk with a certain someone. Wish me luck?”

  I kissed her cheek. “You’re not going to need it.”

  When she was out the door, Maxine looked after her. “I like your sister-in-law. I hope nothing’s wrong that she has to take time off. She didn’t look well this morning.”

  “Nothing to worry about. Hey, would you help me set up some tables for tonight?”

  “What’s tonight?”

  “We host regular game nights here at the shop. Honestly, it’s mostly because I’m a board-game junkie, but it drives a few customers in.”

  “What kinds of games?”

  “It varies, but tonight is specialty card games, like Uno and Skip-Bo.”

  “Pit?”

  “Sure, if enough people want to play. We also have some more obscure games. Like Bohnanza—which is all about trading different kinds of beans. And then there’s Dutch Blitz. That’s an Amish game. ‘Vonderful Goot Game,’ at least according to the package. I think I agree.” Although it can be a bit fast-paced. We’d even had a few injuries.

  “Sounds like a lot of fun. Can anyone come?”

  “Of course. Off the clock, though. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll have to get home and check on my cat.”

  “We don’t start until seven, anyway, so plenty of time.”

  “Well, then,” Maxine said, reaching for her sweater, “I’ll see you later!”

  # # #

  The first one to arrive at game night was Jack Wallace.

  If he’d worn a hat, he would have been kneading it in his hands. “Hello, Liz.”

  “Jack, you’re here early.” I hadn’t expected him to come at all.

  He took a seat at an empty table. “Yeah. I was hoping we could talk.”

  Dad chose that moment to barge in from the back room whistling a song from an old musical. It took me a moment to realize it was “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair” from South Pacific. So much for his pledge to stay out of my love life.

  “Jack, how’s it going?” he said. He had the effrontery to act surprised to see him. I suspect he’d run down the stairs after seeing Jack walk up.

  Jack stood up to shake his hand. “Fine, sir. I wanted to thank you. For what you did for Terry. He told me you found him and convinc
ed him to go to the station.”

  “Just a matter of knowing where to look. No sense in him getting into more trouble than he deserved.”

  “I appreciate it, and I wanted you to know that.” He then directed his gaze at me. “And I need to apologize to Liz.”

  “Me?”

  “You were right to not trust Terry. I should’ve never come down on you like that.”

  I shook my head. “Jack, he’s your brother.”

  “And I’ll always love him, but I also need to realize that I can’t blindly stand up for him. Nor should I expect anyone else to. He needs to prove himself. He needs to regain trust, and that’s going to take time, if he can manage it at all. It was unfair of me to treat you like I did.”

  “Enough,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad Terry didn’t steal those comics. It wasn’t something I wanted to believe.”

  “Liz, I just wanted you to know I was sorry. And . . .” He trailed off and looked at my father, who was still there in the room.

  “I think I’ll go make some coffee,” Dad said.

  “Thanks,” Jack said. “Liz, I also wanted to make sure we could salvage our friendship.”

  “You know we’ll always be friends.”

  He swallowed hard. “And if we could pick up where we left off?” If he’d looked any more sheepish, he’d be eating grass in the fields and sprouting a thick wool coat.

  “I . . .” I started, but that was all I could get out.

  The realization and disappointment poured over Jack’s face. “That’s okay. I understand,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Things changed.”

  “Ken?”

  I nodded.

  “He’s a good man. A far better man. And not stupid enough to walk away.” Jack picked up a deck of cards and rolled it on the table. “Look, I’m not up for fun and games tonight. Maybe I’d better get home.”

  I nodded again, not trusting my voice.

  When the bell over the door signaled his departure, Dad reappeared. “You okay, kiddo?”

  I looked up at Dad. He went blurry, and the next thing I knew I was blubbering all over his shirt.

  “Let’s get you upstairs before people start arriving, okay?”

  Safe in my room, I had one last cry over Jack, thinking about all the years we’d had together, all the years we didn’t. My mind rehashed every moment, from the first time he asked me out in high school, to the time he dumped me at the prom, to the recent renewal of our relationship, to the absent-minded daydreams I’d had throughout the years about what a future would be like with Jack. I loved him. I really did.

  When Cathy had suggested that I needed to choose, she was right. I just didn’t realize that the choice would tear me apart.

  Chapter 18

  “Are you feeling better, honey?” Maxine asked me when she arrived the next morning and shoved her sweater under the register.

  When I’d unlocked the door, I’d ventured as far as the sidewalk. While the temperature was still unseasonably warm and the sky was clear and sunny, there was a little nip in the air. Maybe fall was just arriving fashionably late.

  “What?” I asked.

  “How are you feeling? Last night your father said you were under the weather. I was wondering if you caught what Cathy had.”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” I said. “Did you enjoy game night?”

  “It was a lot of fun,” she said. “Folks just sitting around, talking, and playing games. I even rang up a few sales last night. Mostly little stuff. But I did find a buyer for that Illya Kuryakin action figure. An NCIS fan. Took him a minute to realize that it was the same actor who plays Ducky. Paid full price too. He was going to haggle, but I told him I was new and wasn’t sure I was authorized to dicker.”

  “I hope you didn’t feel you had to do that. Dad should have—”

  “He was busy talking to the police chief and the mayor’s wife. You really get the big guns in here. It’s like the who’s who of East Aurora. Playing games, of all things.”

  “They do say games are good for the mind. Einstein said that play was the highest form of research . . .” Then her words registered. “Dad was talking to the chief last night?” Probably settling the final details of my dowry. I hadn’t seen him this morning. Sleeping in, I supposed. But since he’d closed up last night, I decided to let him have his late morning. “I wonder what they were talking about.”

  “Same thing everyone’s been talking about for days. What happened to Craig. Is it true what they’re saying? He was suffocated?”

  “Preliminary findings,” I said.

  Just then Cathy pushed the door open. “Good morning, everybody.”

  “Someone’s chipper today,” I said. “Does that mean you . . .”

  “Spilled the beans?” A smile erupted across her face, and I rushed to hug her.

  “You were right,” she said. “He was through the roof.”

  “Don’t mind me. I’m new here,” Maxine teased.

  Cathy patted her hand. “I’d tell you, but I should tell Dad first. Is he upstairs?”

  “Should be awake by now,” I said. “Go on up.”

  “You can fill Maxine in. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  As soon as Cathy was out of earshot, Maxine asked, “Pregnant?”

  “It’s not a secret she was likely to keep for long.”

  “She looks happy. That’s a tough job, bringing a child into this world.”

  I suddenly remembered who I was talking with. Maxine was single, childless, and past an age where she would ever have children. I wasn’t sure if that was something that had ever bothered her. She was also good at reading faces.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Been there. Done that.”

  Her words sank in. “You have a child?”

  “I did, but I was young and it was a mistake. In the end, I had to give him up.”

  “What happened?” But even as I asked, I could see the answer in the shape of her nose, the contours of her face, the slight cleft in an otherwise undefined chin.

  I dropped the Magic 8 Ball I’d been cleaning, and it went careening across the floor. “Craig?”

  Maxine’s lips pinched together.

  I went over to hug her. “No wonder you were so upset. He wasn’t just your boss.” I squeezed her tighter. “Did Craig know?”

  “By the time I found him, he was just so angry. Back when I had to give him up, I’d hoped that maybe somebody good would adopt him, that he’d be off somewhere living the life of Riley in a nice house with brothers and sisters and maybe a puppy. That didn’t turn out to be the case. I still planned on telling him, but I chickened out and decided to wait until after he’d gotten to know me a little better. Then there wasn’t any chance.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was into hugs, but she was about to get another one, whether she liked it or not. I rocked her two or three times when the thought hit me. “That means Craig’s son . . .”

  She sighed. “Is my grandson.”

  “Liz!” Cathy called from upstairs.

  “That was quick,” I said. “Is he excited?”

  “He’s not up there.”

  “What?” I ran past Maxine and up the steps leading to the apartment. The coffee and muffins I’d left for him were still sitting untouched. The door to his room, which had been shut this morning, was now wide open. Dad’s bed was made. In fact, Othello was lying on it. He blinked at me but didn’t move.

  “This is how I found it.” Cathy started. “Do you think . . . ?”

  I went straight to the closet where he normally locked up his gun. The small safe was locked, but lighter than it should’ve been had the weapon and ammo been inside. Since his retirement, Dad had a history of going out and trying to pretend he was no longer retired.

  “I thought he promised he wasn’t going to do that anymore,” Cathy said.

  “He did. He wasn’t going to sneak out anymore. He promised he’d tell me if he was going somewhere.” That wa
y, even if I couldn’t talk him out of it, I could go with him. We’d joked about whether I was his sidekick or he was mine. But at least I’d know he was safe.

  When I sat on Dad’s bed to think, Othello climbed on my lap.

  “What’s this?” Cathy said.

  Where Othello had been lying was a sheet of paper torn from an old steno notebook. It was crumpled and warm, with more than a few black and white hairs on it.

  “‘Couldn’t sleep,’” I read aloud, “‘so I went out to check on a lead.’”

  Cathy started laughing. “You know, he actually did tell you where he was going. Sort of.”

  “What lead?”

  I tucked the note into my pocket and went down to the shop.

  “Maxine?” I called.

  “Let me know if you need any help,” Maxine told a customer before meeting me near the door to the back room.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know anyone had come in. Your first week, and we’re already depending on you.” I glanced over to where the customers were in full browse mode. It’d take them nearly an hour if they circled the whole store at that pace. “When my dad was talking to the chief last night, do you know what they were talking about?”

  “About what happened to Craig, mostly, I think,” she said. “Although I didn’t hear all of it.”

  “Did they mention any . . . places?”

  Maxine eyed me oddly.

  “Dad likes to forget he’s retired sometimes.”

  “Is he losing it? He seems so together.”

  “Nothing like that. He just tries to prove he can still do the job. And then he gets in over his head.”

  “So more like a midlife crisis kind of thing.”

  “Exactly,” I said, but I’d never considered that possibility. “Did they talk about any places in particular that my dad might check out?”

  Maxine scratched her nose with the back of her hand. “They mentioned the hospital. But the chief said he’d already gotten the security camera footage.”

  “That was quick,” I said.

  “They talked about some publishing house.”

  “Do you remember the name?”

  “Something about Buffalo Chips. I couldn’t tell if it was food or if it was like cow chips.” Maxine wrinkled her nose.