Murder on the Toy Town Express Page 9

  # # #

  I never got a chance to “accidentally” run into Ken at the toy show, since he was waiting for me at the kitchen table when I emerged from the bathroom, showered and dressed and looking for my earring.

  “You look nice,” he said, coming over to kiss my cheek.

  “Thanks. Where’s . . .”

  “Your father let me in as he was leaving. He went over early to check things out at the show.”

  “And you’re my protector for the day?”

  Ken shrugged, and I thought I detected a hint of a blush. Was he onto Dad’s other motive for setting this up?

  “Are you sure it isn’t my father who needs protecting?”

  “My guys are still running down that list, but I was thinking. If someone drugged that cup intending it for your father, it would have had to happen early on, probably in the concessions area. That’s all on tape, and not too many people had opportunity, and even fewer had any reason to hold a grudge against your father.”

  He didn’t mention the glaring exception. Terry. I’d definitely keep my eyes open for him at the show today.

  I finally spotted my earring in the corner under the kitchen table. Funny thing about earrings, you can’t always find them where you left them, especially if you have a cat.

  “Just let me go clean this off,” I said, heading to the bathroom.

  I stared at myself in the mirror. “Is this what you want?” I whispered. Assuming my relationship with Jack was DOA, as our last conversation suggested was inevitable, was I ready for some kind of committed relationship with Ken? My feelings for him personally aside—and he was a great guy and certainly Dad’s fan-favorite—did I want to get more seriously involved with a cop?

  I knew the long hours and the stress all too well. I hadn’t worried too much about Dad when I was little. I recalled being more resentful than anything else, especially when fun plans were cancelled and promises broken. But that changed when I began to understand the dangers of his work—and any vestiges of resentment remaining were surgically extracted at the instant I’d learned that he’d been shot in the line of duty.

  Someone needs to run in the direction from which bullets are coming, and I had a lot of respect for the men and women who did. But I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to be the one at home with her stomach tied into a macramé plant hanger, waiting to see when—or if—someone I loved would ever walk through the door.

  I shook my head at my reflection. It was nice to have someone to go to the movies with, or to philharmonic concerts at Knox Farm. And maybe that’s all that Ken wanted too. He’d never seemed in any particular hurry to advance a relationship. But perhaps my friendship with Jack had something to do with that too.

  But today Ken was to be my partner-in-crime, and not my partner-for-life, so I did my best to shake the thought from my mind.

  Seriously, how close can someone be to having a complicated love life without having one at all?

  # # #

  “Where are we headed?” I asked Ken, still thinking about the relationship conversation with my reflection.

  “I thought we could go to the station first,” Ken said, taking my words at face value. “Howard Reynolds is going to want to talk with you, so I thought maybe we could get that out of the way.” He hazarded a glance at me as he waited for a break in traffic to make a turn. “Maybe pick up a little information while we’re there, if we’re lucky.”

  “So in other words, you’re still working the case, just not officially.”

  He nodded. “It’s not that I don’t trust Howard or the rest of the guys. They’re great. But there’s too much riding on this whole situation for me to cool my heels at home or pack up and go hunting.”

  I merely nodded while he pulled into the parking lot and slid into his reserved spot.

  Lori Briggs, the mayor’s wife, whose apparent interest in the police chief had sparked more than a few rumors around town, gave me a frozen grin as she met us midway to the door. “Why, Liz! Ken. Funny to run into you here.” Her attention was all on Ken, which was pretty typical. “They just told me you’d taken today off.”

  He dipped his chin and took my arm. A signal to her? “Yes, ma’am. Just needed to stop by for a few minutes.”

  “I thought you’d be working the case,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Not sure yet whether there is a case, but it’s in good hands.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Be careful. I’m not saying Craig McFadden was all that well liked around here, but the folks on Main Street are a little worried this is becoming a trend. First that ugly business in the toyshop last year, and now . . .”

  “What are people saying?” I asked. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like Craig fell.”

  “They’re saying drugs. Something trippy, like LSD or PCP. And it might not be any of my business, but now’s not the time to slack off. It’s time to find his dealer or whatever and send a clear message that we have a zero-tolerance policy on illegal drugs.”

  “I assure you,” Ken said, “nobody is slacking off, and if it turns out Craig’s death was due to some kind of drug overdose, every asset of my department will be used to root out the source.” Ken’s words had grown in vehemence.

  Lori was a little taken aback, quite literally, and stumbled into the mulch lining the walkway, her high heel sinking into the loose ground. Ken reached out to keep her from falling.

  She held onto his arm a little longer than was necessary. “Alrighty then,” she said, her face flushed. “I guess I’d better leave you to it.” She sauntered to her Volvo, once again parked in the tow-away zone out front.

  Ken watched her go. “One of these days, I’m going to have that car towed.” He pulled open the door. “Shall we?”

  “I notice you didn’t correct her. Do you think Craig might have taken some kind of street drug?” I’d been so fixated on the coffee cups and the idea that my father could have been targeted that I’d never even considered that if anyone drugged Craig, that person might be Craig.

  He shrugged. “She’s just guessing. But it’s certainly possible. That, and perhaps some kind of overdose or side effect from a legitimate medication. I hope the toxicology results come in quick so we know what we’re dealing with. If it is some kind of new designer drug moving in, I want to move it out just as quick.”

  The air seemed stagnant as we made our way inside. Ken was immediately buzzed in, and I followed him to a desk at the back of the bullpen. At it sat a thirtysomething African American man. He was bulky without suggesting a lack of fitness, and he already looked tired. I suspected he’d been working for hours.

  “Detective Reynolds, this is Liz McCall. I thought you might want to talk with her. She was a witness to the incident yesterday.”

  Reynolds rose from his desk and offered a hand. I shook it, trying hard not to be surprised as I noticed several fingertips were missing. The war? I’d been told he was a veteran.

  “Thanks, saves me a trip.” He sent a friendly, reassuring smile in my direction while gesturing to a chair next to his desk. “How are you doing this morning, Miss McCall?”

  “Liz is fine,” I said, smiling while I sat down. In the corner of my mind was Dad’s voice saying how a good interrogator always acted like your best friend. And suddenly I was less reassured.

  “So you knew this Craig McFadden?” His tone was even and conversational. Fine. I had nothing to hide.

  “Yes, sir. I went to school with him, for a little while anyway. Later he moved away.”

  “What did you think of him?”

  Ken, who hadn’t made any move to leave, cleared his throat.

  I sat up a little straighter. “Honestly, in school he was quite a jerk. But I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt that he’d turned his life around.”

  “And you got along with him now?”

  “I didn’t see that much of him,” I said, not mentioning that I tended to go out of the way to make that happen.

&nb
sp; “So you probably couldn’t tell me if he was acting out of the ordinary at all.”

  I shook my head.

  Ken leaned forward. “You might want to check with his doctor to see if he was on any medications . . .”

  “Got it covered.” Detective Reynolds rubbed an eyebrow and turned back to me. “Your businesses are in competition, I gather.”

  “Not really,” I said. “He sold mostly comic books, and we mainly sell toys. There is only a small overlap.”

  “Yet you still offered his employee a job at your place based on her experience.”

  Rats. “You’ve been talking with Maxine.”

  He nodded. “She’s a bit torn up about the whole thing.”

  “She knew Craig a lot better than I did, and now she’s got to be wondering if she has a job.”

  “So Craig’s death opens the door for you to acquire a valuable employee,” Reynolds said.

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. A few heads around the bullpen pivoted to look in my direction. “Are you entertaining the idea that I killed Craig so I could steal Maxine? For the record, I wasn’t trying to steal Maxine as much as I wanted to borrow her for the holiday rush. She’s an amazing worker, and yes, I did want to capitalize on that knowledge base a little bit. Not many temporary employees could pick the Bionic Six out of a lineup of action figures. When you find one who can, they’re good as gold.” I made a mental note to ask her if she was still available.

  He scooted back in his chair, and Ken’s head drooped. Time to start holding my tongue a bit.

  “You might be right there,” Reynolds said. “As a motive, it’s a little sketchy. But tell me what you know about Maxine.”

  “Not a whole lot. Just what I saw at the show yesterday. She’s very efficient and personable. She dealt well with customers and seemed to get along with Craig okay, which couldn’t have been easy.”

  “You didn’t notice anything off in their relationship?”

  I shrugged. “They didn’t have a relationship, in that sense. At least I hope not. Not unless she’s some kind of cougar.” With very low standards, I added mentally. “Still, she put up with more of his nonsense than I would have.”

  “How so?”

  “He was abrasive and rude. And she went above and beyond the call of duty, especially for that kind of job.”

  “Did she say what she thought of her employer?”

  “She seemed to make excuses for him a little,” I said, noticing this for the first time myself. “I figured she was just very loyal. Old school.”

  Reynolds nodded, but his brow creased ever so slightly.

  “Is Maxine a suspect?” I asked.

  “We don’t have suspects,” Reynolds said. “Not until we can be sure a crime has actually been committed. Right now I’m just trying to learn who the players are.”

  I nodded, thinking my dad would’ve liked that assessment. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell me to not leave town like they do in all the old TV shows?”

  “As if I had the power.” Reynolds tossed his pen on his desk. “But if you are planning any trips, I’d appreciate a heads-up.”

  Chapter 10

  “What did he mean by that?” I asked Ken after he started his car.

  He waited until we were on the street heading toward the conference center before answering. “He’s just yanking your chain, I think. I hope. And, Liz, you’re not at the point of needing to lawyer up or anything, but must you be so forthcoming?”

  “Sorry. I’ve been told I’m a very open and genuine person. Some think it’s my most redeeming quality.”

  He tapped the steering wheel a few times. “That’s new. Stuck on a girl who’s too transparent for her own good.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. I just usually go too far the other way and fall for the ones with too many secrets.” He sent me a smile. “You’re refreshingly different.”

  His mood sobered, leaving me wondering if I’d evoked a memory of someone in his past with “too many secrets,” or if he’d just caught sight of the convention center parking lot, which was now jammed with cars and more than one news van. Multiple lines snaked in front of the building as people waited for the doors to open.

  “Are the reporters covering the train show or the . . . incident?” I asked.

  “I think we’re about to find out.” Ken reached for the car door handle. “Good thing I’m off duty and don’t have to give any interviews.” He glanced at the lines again. “This place have a back door?”

  I texted my dad, and Ken kept his head down as we speed-walked around the side of the building until Dad emerged at a door marked “caterer’s entrance.” Still, a voice called out, “Chief!” But Dad pulled the door closed behind us and locked it as we hustled into a dim and empty kitchen area.

  “Thanks,” Ken said. “It got busy out there.”

  “I guess they covered the incident on the eleven o’clock news,” Dad said. “Only the story was Craig McFarrel was somehow hit by a train. I’d like to think that the increase in attendance was caused by a whole bunch of people who’d never heard of the show deciding all of a sudden that they like trains and toys. But I’m just not that naïve.”

  “You got enough security?” Ken asked.

  “I called up a couple of retirees from the force to cover the entrance,” Dad said. “They sounded excited to come. I’m hoping it’s the paycheck they’re after. One guy’s here already. The other should be here any moment. We’re letting the camera crews in one at a time to get crowd shots. Other than that, we’ve asked the media to stay in the parking lot.”

  “I’ll bet they love that,” Ken said.

  “They weren’t happy, but they’re cooperating.”

  “So business as usual?” I said. It hardly seemed a worthy tribute, even to someone like Craig.

  Dad shrugged, and then we followed him through a series of doors, the last of which opened into the main area, already abuzz with conversation as the vendors readied their booths and the model engineers warmed up their engines.

  Conductor Frank waved us over as Ken and I headed toward the toy booths. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to me as his UFO vendor or to Ken as the chief of police—or maybe a little of both.

  “What do you think of her?” Frank asked, pointing to his layout.

  I stepped closer to take a look. He’d added some scorch marks to the outside of the flying saucer—which I hoped Dad hadn’t seen because he painstakingly cleaned it when it first came in the shop. But most of it was embedded in the hillside and a thin ribbon of smoke rose upward from the crash site.

  “The smoke’s a nice touch,” I said.

  “Did you see the aliens?” He pointed to an area a few feet away. The purple aliens were arranged in a field, more in the foreground, so that the size difference wasn’t easily recognizable. They were gathered around a large cauldron over a glowing flame. At regular intervals, the pot lid hinged open just enough to reveal the wide, frightened eyes of a human figure.

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “I got it from an old Twilight Zone episode.”

  “‘To Serve Man’?” I asked. “I thought you weren’t into science fiction.”

  “Just the Twilight Zone, on account of my nephew used to do some odd jobs for Rod Serling.”

  “I’d forgotten Rod Serling lived around here,” I said, making a mental note to look for action figures from the show. Toys with ties to local interest tended to move off the shelves a lot quicker, which is why Fisher-Price and Howdy Doody were such hot sellers.

  “More toward the Finger Lakes, I think,” he said. “But local enough.”

  Frank wagged a finger at Ken. “You’re the new police chief, right?”

  “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “But I’m off duty right now.”

  Frank rubbed his chin. “Is it true what they’re saying about the guy who fell?”

  “What have you heard?” Ken asked.

  “I heard he
was dead, for one thing,” Frank said. “Those reporters were camped out when I got here at six.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true,” I said. “He died last night.”

  Frank looked down. “Now I feel bad. Yesterday I was mouthing off about how he was such an idiot.”

  “Did you know Craig?” Ken asked.

  “Just around the shows,” Frank said. “The costume was new though. Never saw that before.”

  “So you saw Craig before he fell?” Ken asked. “We’re trying to put together a timeline.”

  “Yeah, I saw him,” Frank said. “If I’d a known he wasn’t long for this world, I might have paid him more attention. But he was running around here, flapping that cape of his, and I hadn’t finished putting my layout together.”

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “I don’t recall. But he did hand me one of his pamphlet thingies. You want it?”

  “Yes, that’d be great.” I remembered someone saying they found a stack of leaflets on the catwalks, but I hadn’t seen one for myself.

  Frank fished it out from underneath the table skirt and handed it to me.

  Ken looked over my shoulder. “Those are like the ones he had on the catwalk. I’m glad he never had a chance to drop them.”

  “They could have hurt someone,” I said. They were glossy trifold brochures of a decent weight that never would’ve fluttered like tickertape. They’d have gone straight down, and heaven help the man standing directly under Craig.

  “He was going to throw a bunch of those?” Frank said, looking up at the catwalk directly above his layout. “Man, that guy really was an idiot.” He glanced toward the door. “Do you think I ought to go out there and set those reporters straight? I’d hate for folks to stay away because they think it’s not safe.”

  “You obviously haven’t seen the line outside,” I said. “I don’t think you need to worry about a drop in attendance.”

  “If I were you,” Ken said, “I’d just tell them that a man fell from a restricted area. The police are investigating, but the facilities are safe for the public. If they ask anything more, send them to the police.”