Murder on the Toy Town Express Page 23

  I could hear screaming, but I just wanted to—had to—get out of that car. I found the seat belt and unbuckled myself and started to climb out of the window.

  Arms reached in to help me. Someone told me to stay where I was, but I ignored the voice. “Call the police,” I croaked. Once outside, I looked back at the car. Maxine was drenched and slumped against the steering wheel and deflated air bag. The windshield was gone. And several large lobsters flopped around sluggishly on the hood of the car.

  We’d crashed into the new seafood restaurant—and directly into that spiffy three-hundred-gallon lobster tank.

  Chapter 26

  Dad, Ken, and Howard Reynolds arrived at the same time.

  The emergency room staff still had me hooked up to a couple of monitors, and for some reason, they’d decided I needed an IV, even though it was only a glucose solution. A few cuts, probably from the aquarium glass—which broke into shards instead of blunt little nuggets like the windshield had—had been cleaned and bandaged. They were concerned about my head and neck, and I was immobilized pretty well until they could get me in to “take some pictures,” as they called it. But they were taking their own sweet time about it, so I doubted they believed they’d find anything serious. I had a feeling I was about to discover how good that health insurance Dad had bought for all of us in the shop actually was when these deductibles started adding up.

  Dad rushed in like he wanted to hug me but wasn’t sure how to navigate all the medical equipment or the braces they’d used to stabilize my head and neck. He reached over to kiss my cheek, then grabbed my hand instead. “You look awful.”

  “Just what every woman wants to hear.”

  Dad hovered in closer. “Have they looked at your nose yet?”

  “Everything else.”

  “It’s swollen, but it looks straight. Maybe it’ll be okay if they ice it. I think you have a couple of black eyes starting, though.”

  “He’s right, Liz,” Ken said. “You look . . .”

  “Don’t say it,” I warned him. “All told, I don’t feel too bad.”

  “Sorry, Lizzie, but you will,” Dad said.

  “I’ll be back to get a statement,” Reynolds said. “I want to check on the other patient.”

  His voice trailed off as he escaped the confines of my curtained-off area, but then I lost track of him. I knew that Maxine had been taken somewhere else after our arrival, but where she went and how she was doing wasn’t shared with me.

  Ken ducked out too. A moment later, he returned with a chair for my dad.

  Dad sank down into it and rested his cane on the floor. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea I was . . .”

  “Sending the killer along to protect me?” I said. “How could you?”

  “How did you figure it out?” Dad asked.

  “She was that missing factor we were talking about. Someone who had motive to wipe the laptop, steal the computer, and break into Craig’s house. She knew that if police found those files, it wouldn’t be long before they’d be looking at her as a suspect. And I have to think she also wanted to protect his memory a little by hiding those things she thought shamed him.”

  “But this was after she killed him?” Ken said.

  “I think there’s a lot more to that story,” I said. “I’m not sure she ever got over the grief of losing her son.” I had to stop for a moment. She’d loved him, tried to kill him, yet still somehow wanted him in her life. I suspect the image of the distraught young woman she had been, alone with a crying baby and a pillow, would haunt me far longer than any demon-eyed Santa. “She didn’t give Craig up voluntarily.”

  Dad squeezed my hand tighter.

  “I liked her,” I said. “I really did.”

  “I did too.” Dad stood up to grab some tissues from the nightstand and dabbed my eyes. “Trust me, Lizzie, you don’t want to cry with a broken nose.”

  I sniffed, although it didn’t help. Nothing was going in or out of my nostrils, and I had a sinking suspicion Dad was right about the nose. “What is this going to mean for Amanda and Kohl?”

  “Probably not all that much,” Dad said. “They didn’t know of her relationship to Craig, and even if that comes out, they weren’t that close to Craig in the first place.”

  “Will it have to come out?” I asked.

  “That Kohl’s grandma was a looney who killed his dad? It’s going to be hard to keep under wraps,” Dad said. “It depends on what happens with Maxine.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Dad looked at Ken, then at me. “She hasn’t regained consciousness yet. You know what that can mean.”

  I did. Long hours of waiting. Of not knowing.

  “Ken?” a voice called from the hallway.

  Ken pulled open the curtain. “Back here.”

  And soon an unfamiliar face popped into view. Only not totally unfamiliar. “You,” I said. “You were the one asking about graded comics.”

  I looked to Ken for answers.

  “Liz, I’d like you to meet Mark Baker, FBI accountant extraordinaire.” Ken turned back to Mark. “That’s Liz McCall. Usually she’s a lot prettier.”

  “I know,” he said. “We’ve met. At that fiasco of a train show.” He elbowed Ken. “And you make it sound like I audit the FBI. I’m really a forensic accountant. I follow the money.”

  “Is that what you were doing at the train show?” I asked. “Following the money?”

  “When I pulled up the video footage at the station, I recognized Mark right away,” Dad said. “Ken phoned him, and he agreed to meet us to talk. He’d just arrived when the call came.”

  Baker nodded. “McFadden posted those comic books on Craigslist. They popped up on our radar because those same books, similar condition, were reported stolen two years ago. One or two of the same titles might have been coincidence. But five or more rare comics? I had to check it out. I called McFadden, and he said he’d bring those issues to the show.”

  “Only when you got there . . .”

  “I didn’t hear McFadden had died until later that night. I just figured that someone else got them before I did or that somehow Craig was onto me.”

  “We have the books,” Ken said.

  “I’ll be needing them as part of my investigation.”

  Ken crossed his arms and glared. “When we’re done with them as part of our investigation.” Then he burst out laughing. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to say that. Since they’re unrelated to the murder, I don’t think that will be a problem. Talk to Reynolds, though. He’s got a couple of men in custody you might be interested in.”

  Dad pushed out of his chair. “Reynolds is down the hall checking on a suspect. If you’d like, I can walk you down.”

  With promises to return, Dad led Baker away, and Ken sat in the vacated chair.

  After several minutes of silence, I asked, “Do I look that bad?”

  Ken nodded absentmindedly, then caught himself. “Sorry. Still processing. Liz . . .” He took my hand. “If I’d have known that your involvement in this case would lead to that horrific accident, I would never have let you get involved.”

  “Let me?”

  “That didn’t come out right. It’s different for your father. He’s a trained professional.”

  “He’s a retired trained professional. And if you recall, I was on record for you not involving him in cases from the beginning. I just tagged along to make sure he came home at night.”

  “But that’s not what you were doing, was it? You were off on your own investigation.”

  “Not entirely on my own . . .”

  “Liz, the fact that you took the killer along with you to question a witness may not be your best defense right now.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. What is it that you’re trying to say that can’t wait until I get out of the hospital?”

  He rested his forearms on the bed rail. “Liz, my job is stressful enough. I don’t know if I can do it if I have to wor
ry about whether I’m going to get a call that you’ve been in a terrible accident while off on your own . . . or even not on your own,” he said before I could object again, “chasing some some criminal. I guess I’m looking for assurances that this was some kind of aberration.”

  “Huh,” I said as I rested against the pillow. Ken’s concerns had mirrored my own reservations about being involved with a cop. Could I give him those assurances? Crime wasn’t something I sought out. My only involvement had been to keep Dad safe. And yes, it was true that I’d discovered some latent talent. And if I admitted the truth, some satisfaction in working out the puzzle of the case. I wasn’t so sure that if Dad stepped into something else, I wouldn’t follow him right into the thick of things again. Just to keep Dad safe, of course. But that last bit rang false, even without being said.

  “Where does that leave us?” I asked.

  He squeezed my hand and leaned in for a gentle, perhaps friendly, kiss on the cheek. “I think we ought to take it slow. Besides, when you’re feeling better, there are a few things we need to talk about.”

  # # #

  By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I was just starting to feel like myself.

  Dad had been right, of course. My “I don’t feel too bad” declaration in the hospital was followed by days of aches and pains from injuries I hadn’t originally felt and from sore muscles and joints complaining about the jolt of the accident. Probably better than Maxine, though. Even though she’d awakened after a day in ICU, she still had quite a road to recovery.

  Dad managed to acquire a frozen turkey early enough to defrost. I had let it brine overnight, and Thanksgiving morning found me up early in our cozy little apartment, where I decided to sit and chop vegetables for the dressing at the table rather than stand at the counter.

  “Let me get that,” he said as I was about to pick up the large roaster to place in the preheated oven.

  I took my hands off the roaster and let him. Dad’s insistence on doing the heavy lifting reminded me again of my care for him following his release from the hospital, although his recovery had been much more extensive. I hadn’t even been admitted, although it was morning before I’d been able to go home. And either the painkillers were making me forget or I’d blocked out trying to climb the stairs to the apartment.

  With the turkey now roasting, I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down next to Dad, who was reading his paper. “Dad?”

  “Hmm,” he said without looking up.

  “I want to talk about Ken.”

  He folded up his paper. “Is Ken coming today? I’d hoped you’d invited him.”

  “I didn’t invite him. He’s actually working today so some of his guys can celebrate with their families. We decided to take things slow.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” I said. “I’d like to think it’s just a speed bump that we’ll get over, but I’m not quite sure it’s that simple. It seems we’re too alike in the wrong way. Both of us are afraid of committing to someone who’ll make us worry about . . . disturbing phone calls.”

  “There’s a way to block those,” Dad said.

  “I’m not talking about telemarketers. And I think you know that.”

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I know exactly what he means. Thanks to what happened”—he picked up the wrist brace I’d set aside to do my chopping—“I now know what you mean when you remind me I’m retired and tell me to stay at home.”

  “Ask you to stay at home.”

  “That’s not how it sounds to me,” he said. “And I unfortunately now know what your mother meant, early on, when she tried to tell me the same thing. Before I shut her out and ruined her life.”

  “Dad . . .” I put a hand on his forearm. “If anyone ruined Mom’s life, it was Mom.”

  He nodded but remained grim. “I like Ken. But if either of you have any doubts, don’t make the same mistake I did.”

  “If you didn’t involve yourself in any more investigations . . .”

  “I’ve promised that a million and a half times. Both to myself and to you.” He shook his head. “I can’t keep that promise.”

  “What about the toyshop? It was always your dream.”

  “You know dreams. They have a tendency to fade come morning.”

  I must have looked alarmed. “I’m not giving up the shop,” he said. “But aside from your injuries, I do feel good that Craig’s killer is behind bars. Or will be. I hear they’re probably going to release her from the hospital tomorrow.”

  “To jail?” I said.

  “Psych exam first, then we’ll see. She didn’t pop up on anybody’s radar because she had no criminal record.”

  “She tried to kill her own baby once.”

  “Yeah, but charges were never filed. She’d been under a doctor’s care for the postpartum problems—I don’t know much more about that. Records are sealed. But I gather the doctors all thought she’d recovered quite well, considering. Not sure if they’ll try an insanity defense, but you have to admit, she had a pretty loco motive. Locomotive. Huh?”

  I winced. “I should’ve seen that one coming. How many train puns do you know, anyway?”

  “No idea. I’ve lost track.”

  “It’s still a little sad that Craig never got to know his mother,” I said. “Or Kohl, his grandmother. Do we know how she found Craig without him suspecting?”

  “One of the forensics tech guys found some cookies on Craig’s computer?” He shrugged as if this made no sense. “I’m an Oreo man, myself, unless I can score some homemade chocolate chips.” He looked up hopefully.

  “If I have the ingredients.”

  “As for Kohl, he might be better not knowing. Think about it. If Maxine hadn’t been caught, what if someday she decided that Kohl looked peaceful when he was asleep?”

  I shuddered. “As horrifying as that car ride was, if it means Kohl is safe, I’d do it all again.”

  “See. You get it.”

  I sighed. I couldn’t promise to “stay out of trouble” any more than Dad could.

  ###

  “Did you bring the turkey?” Parker asked, peering in the back seat of the Civic. But the only things there were two cat carriers. Despite our best attempts to get Maxine’s cat and Othello to bond, they still hissed at each other. Parker had volunteered to play cat whisperer and told us to bring both of them along to see if he couldn’t get them to play nice.

  “In the trunk,” I said, “along with the dressing, gravy, mashed potatoes, and some chocolate chip cookies.”

  He hugged me. “Love you, sis.” When I popped the trunk, he lifted the lid on the large roaster pan. “Aw, you’ve already carved it. Now I don’t get to demonstrate my awesome knife skills.”

  Dad nudged him. “We were worried you’d attempt surgery and try to bring it back to life.”

  Parker snagged a piece of thigh meat. “The poor fellow hasn’t died in vain.”

  Dad grabbed the carriers, and we climbed the steps. The most amazing smells greeted us when I opened the door. Cinnamon and apple and maple and pumpkin and a touch of nutmeg.

  “Are we in the right house?” Dad whispered.

  “What are you cooking?” I asked Cathy, then lifted the latch to let Othello out. He went immediately over to the other closed carrier and started sniffing the door. A hiss came from inside.

  “It smells wonderful in here.”

  “Yankee Candle, actually.” She winced. “I’m sorry, but due to circumstances beyond our control, there’ll be no green bean casserole this year.”

  When she returned to the kitchen, Parker stepped in the door with another load of food. “We were this close to calling the fire department,” he whispered, then craned his neck to make sure Cathy couldn’t overhear. “Just about everything should be safe, but if you value your life, skip the coleslaw.”

  Cathy’s dining room was lovely, even if the scented candles were a little overwhelming.

&nb
sp; Dad blinked twice, apparently feeling the same sting I was, then announced loudly, “Look at that. I think it’s warm enough to open the windows this year.” He opened the slider.

  “Look who I found wandering out front,” Parker said, ushering in Amanda and Kohl.

  Amanda was carrying a large divided tray.

  Cathy poked her head out of the kitchen to say hello. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

  “Just something Kohl and I do every year. He wanted to bring it.”

  Kohl smiled that shy smile of his, and Cathy lifted the lid. The divided tray held popcorn, pretzels, jelly beans, and toast.

  Cathy looked a little confused, but Dad chuckled. “What a great idea,” he said. “Kohl, we like Snoopy too.”

  “Wonderful,” Cathy said. “How about we keep it for game time after dinner?”

  By this time, a full growl was coming, not from any stomachs, but from the cat carrier.

  Parker lifted it up and sent a stern glare to Maxine’s black cat, who quieted down instantly. “Let me see what I can do with these two.” He glanced up at me. “Have you figured out her name yet?”

  I shook my head. “Maxine never called her anything but kitty, so I guess we’re free to name her anything we want. Just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “Poor nameless kitty,” he crooned into the carrier and was rewarded with a purr. He headed toward the back bedroom. “Come on, Othello,” he said, and Othello followed obediently.

  I shook my head as the door closed. “Cathy, your husband is amazing.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she said, then winked. “I hear he comes from good stock.”

  Amanda got Kohl settled in the family room where Dad turned on the game, then she joined Cathy and me in the kitchen.

  “How are you feeling?” Amanda pointed to my wrist brace. “I heard about your accident.”

  “On the mend,” I said. “I feel bad about recommending Maxine. I never would have if I’d known.” I hadn’t even considered her a suspect, perhaps because she was standing with me in the hallway outside of Craig’s hospital room when the medical personnel were running in. That puzzled investigators too, until the ME explained to Ken that while Craig’s fatal heart attack was brought on by his suffocation, that effect wasn’t necessarily immediate.