Murder on the Toy Town Express Page 5

  “How many cars did you lose?” someone asked.

  “Eight.”

  Even over the crowd noise, I could hear the concerned gasp.

  “Weird thing is,” Frank continued, “the engine pulling them is just scratched up a bit. But another engine went missing.”

  “Valuable?” I asked.

  “Sentimental, mainly,” he said. “Belonged to my father-in-law. Good thing I insured it. Oh, well, you know what they say. When life gives you lemons . . .”

  “If you’re not going to fix it, whatcha gonna do with it?” someone nearby asked.

  “Well, the police want me to leave it like this until they take some pictures. But then I was thinking about turning it into some kind of natural disaster. Like a meteor strike. Or maybe stage it like Sharknado or even Mars Attacks. Do you think folks would believe aliens did this? Crash landed, right about . . . there?” He pointed to the exposed chicken wire.

  “I have some old flying saucers at our booth,” I said, thinking about a weathered 1950s-era tin model that just might look great embedded into that ravaged hillside.

  “To scale?” one of the spectators asked.

  Frank put his hands on his hips and smiled. “That’s the silver lining. Who’s to say how big them aliens are supposed to be?” He looked around to see who might be listening. “Now don’t go telling nobody. You know how some folks like to copy. I don’t want anyone beating me to the punch.”

  # # #

  After pointing Frank in the direction of our booth, my more pressing needs became urgent, so I headed up the aisle toward the ladies’ room. The first stall was occupied, so I made my way to the next.

  I’ll admit to tarrying a little. So much had happened that morning, and I’d already spent so many hours on my feet, that the cool, quiet, and calm of the ladies’ room was actually appealing. After washing my hands, I did my best to tame my hair and ran a cool, damp paper towel along the back of my neck.

  I had just pushed on the door to leave when I stopped and glanced around. The occupant of the first stall hadn’t budged, and faint sniffles were coming from behind the door.

  I took a guess. “Maxine? Is that you?”

  After a few more seconds with no response, a toilet flushed and the door opened. Maxine, her eyes red and puffy, barely made eye contact with me as she made her way to the sink. She washed her hands, then splashed cold water on her face.

  I gathered several towels from the dispenser and handed them to her.

  “Thanks.” She pressed the towels to her face for several moments before taking a deep breath and looking up at my reflection in the mirror. “How bad is it?”

  I wasn’t sure if she was talking about her face or her boss’s fall from grace, so I just smiled and lied. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  She ran more water over the towels and pressed them to her eyes. “He’s not . . . ?”

  “Craig’s alive,” I said. “In fact, I heard he regained consciousness. The police were headed to the hospital to try to interview him.” I gestured to a couple of armchairs opposite the sink, probably designed for nursing mothers or train show widows.

  After she collapsed into a chair, I angled the other chair so I could better see her as we talked. “I take it things didn’t go as Craig had planned.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year.” Her voice grew husky. “I don’t know exactly what he had planned. He’d kept it a secret, even from me. It was his big surprise.”

  “And it had something to do with that outfit?”

  She nodded, then shut her eyes tight. “He was so proud of that thing. Had it custom made from his drawing.”

  “His drawing?” Ah, that was why I hadn’t recognized the costume.

  “That was the big announcement. Craig was about to launch his own line of comic books.”

  “I didn’t know Craig could draw. Although I guess he was always a doodler in school.” In his books and on the desks and on the bus seats. In ink. And later moved on to spray-painting bridges and railroad cars and industrial buildings. Many of his doodles probably should have carried a warning that they were intended for mature audiences.

  “You went to school with Craig?”

  “Briefly. Years ago. Before he . . . moved away.” I wasn’t sure how much she knew about his background.

  She nodded gravely, as if she understood my euphemism perfectly. “He studied art from one of those correspondence schools. I know most of them are scams, but he learned something. His sketches were amazing. But it’s a hard business to break into. So much competition. I know he was frustrated with the rejections.”

  “But apparently he did? Break through, that is.”

  “Well, let’s just say that he found an alternate path. He was in the process of working with a local publishing company to put them into print.”

  “And that was the character he was dressed up as?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Mr. Inferno. Or Doctor Inferno. Something like that. He had trouble finding titles that weren’t being used. I’ve never actually seen his new series. He was very protective of it. But it was all about a superhero who could summon flames at will to fight the bad guys. Very novel approach, and he had such a tragic backstory.”

  I smiled politely. It didn’t feel novel. I was pretty sure that just about every comic universe had at least one character who could perform such a feat. Dad could probably name a dozen. On the other hand, we could all probably count our blessings that Craig didn’t descend from the rafters in a giant ball of flames.

  “I suppose I should check on Craig,” she said. “Then try to figure out where to go from here. I was so frustrated at being shut down and furious at Craig for not being there to handle things. It just got to be too much. I took off to look for him, to give him a piece of my mind. Then everybody was looking up and pointing, and I saw him . . .” She brushed a tear away.

  “But he’s alive. And some more good news,” I said. “Because of a . . . staffing change in security here, you have a green light to reopen your booth. When you’re ready. I could probably find you some help, if you need it.”

  She stared at me for several seconds and then sat silently while two women entered the restroom and scooted past us.

  She tapped the arm of the chair. “I’m going to assume that Craig would want me to get back to work and check on him later.” She nodded, as if another part of her were agreeing with her own assessment. “Yes, that’s what he would want.”

  I pulled open the door and followed her out. As we walked together through the crowded aisles, I spotted the back of Millroy’s head. The pair was still lingering around the comic booth. I took Maxine’s arm. “Did you notice any odd characters hanging around the booth at all?”

  “No, but then again, we’ve been pretty busy. And some might even say that most comic book lovers tend to be a little odd. Although, thanks to The Big Bang Theory and all that, it’s the age of the lovable geek. I try not to notice anything off about a customer.

  “Unless it’s scary.”

  Chapter 6

  Even several yards away from our booth and above the din of the crowd, I could hear Frank doing his best bartering with Jack.

  “What if I pay full price and you throw in those purple aliens too?”

  Jack had his smartphone out and was punching numbers into his calculator app. He didn’t even see me come up.

  “Sold,” I told Frank, who smiled and handed over a wad of cash.

  He held the UFO in one hand, picked up the aliens in the other, and raised them up for my inspection. “You don’t think the aliens are too big for the saucer, do you?”

  “Maybe it’s bigger on the inside,” I said, resisting the urge to point out that they were twice the size of the door.

  “Is that a thing?” Frank asked. “I mean, a real science fiction-y thing?”

  “Oh, yeah. Come to think of it, it is,” I said, while in no way stipulating or suggesting that he was purchasing an actual TAR
DIS. “Or maybe they’re just very limber aliens. Or shape shifters. That’s also a thing.”

  When Frank walked away clutching his purchases, Jack’s shoulders sank in relief. “This job is harder than it looks.”

  “Thanks?” I said.

  After a brief pause, he caught himself. “I mean, you make it look easy.” Jack stretched his back. “The accident sure hasn’t done much to slow business.”

  “We can thank the . . . accident . . . for that little bit of business, actually.” I went on to explain Frank’s plans to fix his layout.

  “I like it,” Jack said. “Very X-Files meets the Island of Sodor.”

  My face must have blanked.

  “You know. Tidmouth Sheds? Knapford Station? Sir Topham Hatt?”

  I shrugged.

  “Thomas the Train? Come on, now! Even if you never watched the show, you must sell the toys!”

  I couldn’t help the chuckle at his expense. “Yes, any number of them. And Parker used to love it, so I’ve seen quite a few episodes.”

  He sent me a playful glare. “So you were just pulling my leg.”

  “Just a little bit. But if you’re worried about it, I can pull the other one so you don’t walk funny or anything.”

  He let out an exaggerated sigh I could hear even over the crowd. “And after I’ve been slaving away, all during your ‘quick’ potty break.”

  “Sorry. I ran into Maxine, and we were talking about the accident. If that’s what it truly was.”

  “You’re thinking it might have been something more? Don’t tell me you’re involved in another investigation.”

  “Actually, Dad is doing a pretty good job of keeping me out of one. He obviously thinks things aren’t as they appear. And I’ve been his daughter long enough to trust those instincts of his.”

  “But if it wasn’t an accident, what? Do you think he might have jumped?”

  I considered the idea for a moment, then shrugged it off. “Honestly, the Craig I know is too full of himself, and he certainly didn’t look suicidal. Quite the opposite; he seemed totally absorbed in his future plans.”

  “Have you learned why he was up there in the first place?”

  “Some publicity stunt. Even Maxine didn’t know all the details. But Ken went to the hospital to talk to Craig, so maybe he’ll get more answers.”

  Jack’s jaw set a little. Was it the mention of Ken? Or concern for me getting caught up in an investigation?

  But I didn’t have a lot of time to figure that out because Dad strode up to the booth. “I see we still have our shadows,” he said.

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Dad had always looked dignified in his police uniform. But the security guard duds they’d dug up for him didn’t measure up, literally. The pants, in addition to being a particularly ugly shade of shiny brown polyester with a crooked stripe on the sides, were too short, showing his tube socks. The shirt, still sporting the wrinkles from being folded tightly in a package, gaped over his stomach. He shot me a warning look.

  “Shadows?” Jack asked, a little bit too loudly.

  Dad grabbed my arm. “You didn’t tell him?”

  “I didn’t have time,” I said.

  “She was on a potty break,” Jack said.

  “I found Maxine,” I said.

  “I can see that.” Dad shifted slightly so that he was still facing me, but he could catch Maxine’s movements in the background. Then he shifted again, maybe to watch the mobsters with his peripheral vision?

  “Oh, come now,” I said. “Use those eyes in the back of your head. I know you have them.”

  “I was just thinking I needed another set. You know, Liz, since you’ve done a good job of pawning your work off on your boyfriend here, maybe you should see if Maxine needs any help. It’ll give you a chance to talk with her. See if she knows more about what happened.”

  “She doesn’t. Apparently Craig never filled her in.”

  “What about the missing comic books?”

  “Missing comic books?” Jack repeated over my shoulder.

  I winced and resisted the urge to turn around and face him. Jack was a sharp guy. And it wouldn’t take much effort for him to put together the missing comic books with the questions I’d asked earlier about his brother’s whereabouts.

  His quick intake of breath marked the occasion.

  I closed my eyes.

  “What?” Dad said. “Did I miss something?”

  “Well,” Jack said, “I hate to rain on your plans and all, but I really can’t stick around. I should probably go hang out with Terry.” He pulled his jacket out from under the table, then shook Dad’s hand. “Good luck with your investigation.”

  He faced me briefly but never made eye contact. “Seriously, Liz. Be safe.” His voice cracked on the last word as he gave my upper arm a brief squeeze.

  Then he walked away. Out of the convention center? Or out of my life for good?

  Knowing just how defensive Jack was about his brother, I suspected the latter. After all, when Dad arrested Terry the first time almost a decade ago, it had pretty much put a nail in the coffin of Jack’s and my relationship. He’d walked out of my life then, until events last year brought us back together and resurrected the old feelings we had for each other. I seriously doubted they’d survive another trial. And given Jack’s proclivity for walking away whenever things got tough, I was beginning to think it might be healthier for me to let him go—and close the door after him—instead of delaying the inevitable.

  Dad put his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lizzie. It’ll be okay.”

  “Will it?” I leaned into him. Maybe the years had softened my dad. He’d never been particularly aware of my love life and never especially sympathetic.

  “Yeah. I called Miles earlier,” he said. “And Cathy said Parker can swing by after his shift at the wildlife center. As soon as one of them gets here, you can go work with Maxine and see what you can figure out.”

  # # #

  Miles arrived twenty minutes later, and I gave him the thumbnail tutorial instead of the full version. The tech-savvy twenty-year-old had originally come to us to design our website, but he stayed on to set up our social media platforms and eventually wormed his way into handling our online sales and acquisitions.

  Dad had never fully explained how they knew each other, but from the few breadcrumbs he’d scattered, I’d gathered that Miles had gotten into trouble in high school when his mother moved him from the reservation to East Aurora, and he fell in with the wrong crowd. He certainly credited Dad with his reformation. Now the two were as thick as, well, thieves, and Miles was a trusted member of our staff, a dear friend, and working his way toward family status.

  And since he’d set up our mobile payment system, he certainly didn’t need any instructions on that.

  I did, however, clue him in on Batman-man and Grandpa. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. They seem more interested in Craig’s Comics, but if you notice anything odd, let Dad or me know.”

  “Got it,” he said. “Where will you be?”

  “Helping at Craig’s Comics.” I glanced over to where Maxine was fielding customers, answering questions, and haggling like a pro. “Not that she needs it. But Dad’s hoping I can get enough information by osmosis to crack the case.”

  “Or so he could crack the case,” Miles said with a bit of a smirk.

  “I have caught a killer before,” I said.

  “Not the way your dad tells it.”

  I glared at him, but he was probably right that Dad’s version of the story differed from mine, just a little. It couldn’t have been easy for Dad to admit that I, a woman—or a girl, as I’d probably always be in his mind—with less training than the greenest rookie, had beaten him to a collar. Even harder since he was a seasoned detective who had, as he was prone to remind me, changed my diapers. I decided to take Idina Menzel’s advice and let it go.

  I first detoured to the concessions area, bought a
Coke and a bottle of water, and carried both back to Maxine. I waited until her most recent customer left before offering her a choice of either. “You have no one to relieve you, and I thought you looked thirsty.”

  “That’s so sweet!” She took the water and gulped down half the bottle before pouring a little into the cupped palm of her hand and splashing it down the back of her neck. “Trust me. Don’t get old.”

  “I’ll do my best.” I took a sip of the cold Coke. “Would you like some help for a little while?”

  “You know comics?” she asked.

  “A little,” I said. “I know most of the major characters, at least the ones who’ve had action figures made of them. I could handle the easy questions and general sales.”

  “Then I would love the company,” she said.

  The next half hour offered little time for talking. The customers who approached the booth weren’t the gangly teens I’d stereotyped as comic book fans. These were grown men—with one or two women thrown in for variety—who’d probably established that gangly teen stereotype ten, twenty, or even thirty years ago. These were serious collectors, who, if they’d held onto and maintained their original collections, could have some serious dough tied up in the hobby.

  One such man in front of me, hunched in an oversized canvas jacket despite the warm temperatures of the room, glanced up from the bin of comic books he’d been perusing, exposing warm brown eyes under a pair of surprisingly long lashes. He pointed to a group of comics in plastic cases. “You have any more CBCS-graded comics?” His eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  “I . . . let me get Maxine to help you with that.”

  Maxine had overheard the question and came to my rescue. “I did have some,” she said, “but they got misplaced when we were setting up. I hope to find them, and I can bring in what we have in the shop, if you’d care to check back tomorrow?”

  He gave her a nod, let the stack he’d been browsing fall back into place, and wandered off.

  “Thanks,” I said. “What’s all that? Were those the comics in the plastic cases?”

  She nodded grimly, a flicker of worry darkening her expression. “CBCS stands for Comic Book Certification Service. We use them for our rarer comic book finds.”