Читать книгу The Trouble with Truth - Kathy Krevat - Страница 12

Chapter 4

Norma was not happy to see me hiding in the kitchen, especially without Mira. After a quick search, it was clear that Norma’s target had grabbed her backpack and exited via the guest room window. We all searched the neighborhood but Mira was nowhere to be found.

Worse, she’d left behind her phone, tossed on the bed like a message. But what did it mean?

“Can you tell me why you’re so interested in Mira?” Lani asked Norma as we all joined together on the front porch. She put her hand on her chest in a dear-me gesture that I could tell she was faking. “I mean, should we be worried about our safety?”

Norma had to know she was making it up as well, but answered anyway. “A family member seems to believe she had a motive.”

Inside I seethed, knowing immediately it was Sybil. “You mean the same person who viciously slapped Mira across the face yesterday?”

Norma’s jaw tightened. “Do you have something to tell me?”

I told her what happened outside the kitchen, leaving out no details.

“Why didn’t you report it?” she asked.

“Mira asked me not to,” I said. “She believed that once the information in the play was out, they’d have no reason to threaten her.”

She nodded but I could tell she wasn’t happy that we’d kept that from her. “Has Mira mentioned a boyfriend? Her roommate believed she was dating someone.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, but I doubt she’d discuss that with me.”

Norma closed her notebook. “I advise you to call me if Mira returns.”

“Of course,” Lani said.

I didn’t answer.

* * * *

I drove around, all over Sunnyside, but came home in time to get Elliott off to school. Lani texted me that she and Piper were still searching.

On Tuesdays, I usually woke up very early to make a special line of food for cat owners who had been my earliest customers while Zoey held down the fort at the commercial kitchen. I’d used small jars back then, and this group demanded the same packaging, instead of switching over to my canned products.

Trouble grumbled as if she knew what day of the week it was and was upset that I wasn’t giving her samples. While I’d been gearing up production for the big opening-day celebration at Twomey’s, I’d deliberately pushed new product development to the back burner. Increasing my business had meant letting employees handle cooking, the most important part of all. Somehow becoming “management” made me feel less in control.

My first step was to make a pot of strong coffee, and then I opened up my laptop. I wanted to see what the news was saying about Dennis Franklin’s death. Oh man. The death of the wealthy developer had hit the national news. One website—sandiegounderbelly.com—sounded very inflammatory, with lots of exclamation points and usage of words like “horrific,” “gruesome,” and “heinous.” It claimed that Dennis had been killed on the site of his new development in Sunnyside with a nail gun.

A chill ran down my spine.

None of the other stories mentioned the cause of death. I hoped it wasn’t true. I clicked over to videos from the local station. It was barely light out and they were broadcasting from the street in front of the development site. They seemed to be repeating the same details. That a wealthy philanthropic developer was killed during the evening in a murder that apparently was shaking the community.

It had certainly shaken me.

When I heard my dad moving around upstairs, I stopped the video to get his breakfast ready.

Dad came down and must have noticed how tired I looked. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he sat at the kitchen table.

I handed him his mug. “Take a sip first and I’ll tell you.”

I filled him in on the whole story—Dennis Franklin’s death and Mira’s disappearance act. When I finished, the doorbell rang. Our eyes met and I pushed back from the table, hoping Mira had decided to come here.

Then I heard Trouble growl like a hell-hound and knew it was Charlie, one of Joss’s special Buff Laced Polish chickens that managed to escape his pen regularly. Charlie had been the subject of psychological tests and poked anything that looked like a button. For some reason, our doorbell was his favorite.

Usually I didn’t mind. A visit from this chicken with the fancy feathers on his head meant he had to be returned home, which gave me an excuse to see Joss.

“Dammit,” I said. I waited for my dad to grab Trouble before I opened the front door and saw Charlie.

My dad looked as worried as I felt. “You want me to wake up Elliott while you take Charlie back?”

Trouble squirmed, wanting to attack her arch enemy, but my dad had become an expert at holding the fighting mad cat.

I nodded, wondering if I could take the time to throw on some makeup before seeing Joss. I grabbed a pair of sunglasses instead.

Charlie came along willingly in what had become our normal process—him meandering and pecking at interesting things on the ground and me walking patiently behind him. We headed back toward the farm, me with my homing pigeon. Or homing chicken.

I opened the outside gate and was about to lift him into his pen when I noticed something on the ground. A yellow emoji clip like one that had been on Mira’s backpack. This one had a smiley face with its tongue sticking out.

Could Mira be hiding at Joss’s farm?

Unfortunately, Charlie saw it at the same time I did and we both dove for it. I ended up wrenching it from Charlie’s mouth. After dumping the protesting chicken back in his pen and brushing dirt and I-didn’t-want-to-know-what-else off my knees, I looked around the farm for the most likely place for Mira to be hiding. The chicken coop? One of the barns?

“Hi, Colbie.”

I turned and saw Mira with Joss on the front porch of his house. I let out a huge sigh and rushed up the stairs. “Oh my God,” I said and gave her a hug.

She hugged me back, a testament to her vulnerability. She wasn’t a hugger.

I pulled away. She looked exhausted.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I found her asleep in the barn,” Joss said. He seemed more curious than upset.

“Do you want to come over and, I don’t know, talk this through?” I asked, feeling like she was a jumpy fawn that could spring away at the slightest provocation.

Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah.” She turned to Joss. “Thanks for the…everything.”

“Anytime,” he said. He raised his eyebrows at me in a what-is-going-on? expression.

I mouthed, “Later,” and headed after Mira. After a few steps, I used my most gentle voice. “I know you’re tired, and I’m so, so sorry this happened. But I think you need to speak to the police with a lawyer I know. Running away is not going to help.”

She stopped walking and looked at me. “I’m not running anymore.” She stared out over the field. “I could’ve. No one would have found me. But I have a life now, you know?”

“Yes, you do,” I said. “We’re going to figure this out. Together.”

* * * *

Two hours later, Elliott had been delivered to school. My dad was reading the newspaper, an actual print newspaper, on the back porch while I waited anxiously for Mira and Lani to return from the police station. When I was nervous, I cooked Meowio cat food. So far, I’d made two weeks’ worth of Seafood Surprise.

As usual, Trouble sensed my anxiety and wound around my ankles, either to comfort me or put me out of my misery by tripping me, I wasn’t sure. Actually, she probably wanted me to hurry up with the taste testing.

I couldn’t help but feel bad that Mira was in this mess. She’d already had such a troubled life. It seemed particularly unfair for her to be under such a cloud of suspicion.

I heard a car stop in front of the house and by the time I’d taken off my gloves and peeked out the kitchen window, Lani and Mira were coming up the steps.

“Door’s open,” I called out.

They walked in, looking somber.

My dad heard me and came inside from the back porch, folding the newspaper and putting it aside.

I put the electric kettle on, deciding that Mira needed to be babied with some hot cocoa. “How did it go?”

Mira stared at the floor.

“They let us walk out.” Lani sounded like she was trying very hard to find something positive to say.

“For now,” Mira said.

“What did the lawyer say?” I asked.

Lani looked at Mira. “We can go into details later.”

Mira rolled her eyes. “It’s not going to change reality to not discuss it in front of me. The police think I did it.”

I was stunned. “What? Why?”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Lani said. “They’re investigating several suspects.”

Mira made a scoffing sound. “Right.”

“Did you tell them your alibi?” I asked.

Silence from both of them. Mira’s expression was rebellious and Lani’s was I’m-trying-not-to-be-judgmental-here.

Lani spoke up first. “It might seem like a bad situation, but we have a secret weapon.” She winced, as if realizing “weapon” might not be appropriate. “We have Colbie.”

“Oh really?” I asked. I hoped she wasn’t going where I thought she was going.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Mira, whether she likes it or not, is part of our family now. And we do anything for family. Including investigating murders.”

I knew it.

She turned to Mira. “I’m sure I told you that Colbie solved a murder this summer.”

“Only about a million times,” Mira said under her breath.

I laughed. “It was definitely a group effort.” I’d better not mention the near death and mayhem we experienced.

Lani patted me on the shoulder like a proud mom. “You know, we should make a list of potential suspects right now.” She gave me a narrow-eyed stare. I got it. She was distracting Mira from talking about what had happened during the police interview.

“That’s a great idea,” my dad said. He pulled out the newspaper, which had a large photo of Dennis Franklin’s wife and two sons coming out of a downtown restaurant. “I vote for these two—” He stopped. “Asinine foster brothers you had.”

“Stop, Dad,” I said. “This could be dangerous.”

Mira looked panicked and I realized it wasn’t because she was worried about danger. She needed our help. I’d been a murder suspect before. She had to be feeling the same sense of helplessness I remembered.

“But if you’re in, I’m in,” I said.

Lani stood to grab my laptop from the counter. “Let’s make a list.” She set her reading glasses on her nose, opened a new spreadsheet, and typed in Suspects, making the letters large and bold. Numbers one and two were Rocky and Will.

“Not Rocky,” Mira said in a distressed voice.

Lani paused before replying. “I know he’s been nice to you in the past, but you said he listens to his older brother too much.”

When Mira frowned, Lani added, “I’m sure we’ll cross Rocky off soon, but let’s cast the widest net at first.”

“What about his wife, Sybil?” I asked. “She’s certainly violent enough.”

Mira bit her lip. “She was too scared of him.”

My dad pointed out, “I don’t know. If she was scared of him, maybe a nail gun would seem like a good way to get him out of her life.”

Did he have to mention that? He must have read the same website I did. “We don’t know what the weapon was, right, Dad?”

He seemed about to protest and then figured out I didn’t want nasty details discussed in front of Mira.

“Sybil would never do anything that…dirty,” Mira said. “It’s not like she was a germophobe or anything.”

When Lani looked up from typing Sybil’s name, Mira explained, “She was fastidious. About everything. She hated job sites. The only time she went close to them was for the ribbon cutting ceremonies.”

“Sorry,” Lani said. “That doesn’t rule her out in my book.” She typed another number.

“I saw articles about a class action lawsuit,” I said. “Something about unfair business practices.” I told them what I’d read.

Mira seemed surprised. “I was pretty young when I hung out there, but I don’t remember seeing anything like that.”

Lani typed Employees involved in lawsuit. “What about his competitors?” she asked.

Mira nodded. “There were plenty of those who disliked him,” she said. “Boggie Markoff hated him the most.”

“Boggie? Like Froggie?” I asked.

She nodded. “He’s Russian. It’s short for Bogdan, but he goes by Boggie. I guess they were, like, big work rivals from way back.”

Lani clicked over to Google and typed in his name. “Whoa. Over ten thousand hits. He’s huge. Lots of developments in Southern California.”

“Yeah,” Mira said. “He’s got a few in San Diego but then Dennis got mad about him encroaching on ‘his’ territory and started underbidding him.”

“Couldn’t Boggie have bid lower?” I asked. His name was fun to say.

“Boggie claimed Dennis had a mole in his company, who would tell Dennis what he was bidding,” Mira said. “And Dennis claimed the same thing when Boggie won.”

“Oh man,” Lani said. “Dennis was not shy about his animosity on Twitter.”

I got up to read over her shoulder. “You aren’t kidding. I’m going to grind you into dust.” I looked at Mira. “Did he talk like that in person?”

She slouched down in her chair. “All the time. He was pretty nutty—everyone was either an enemy or his best friend.”

Lani rubbed her forehead. “How are we going to talk to this Boggie?”

I pushed back my nervousness that we were moving from just listing names to taking action. “Yeah,” I said. “It’s not like I could waltz in and make an appointment.”

Mira leaned forward. “Maybe at a fundraiser? They used to compete at those too. Like outbid each other at auctions to crazy prices. Dennis once came home with a bronze statue of Zeus that he immediately donated to Goodwill. I think he paid thousands of dollars for it.”

“Ooh, a fundraiser is a good idea,” Lani said. She typed away on her computer again. “Hah! Next Friday. A dinner raising money for the Birch Aquarium. Mr. Boggie is a guest of honor.” She typed some more. “And there are tickets available. I’m buying two. You and Joss can go. Like a date.”

I blinked. “Wait. I don’t even know if Joss is free.” Or if I was.

“Then I’ll go with you,” she said.

“What are we going to do? Walk up to him at the buffet and ask him ‘Did you kill Dennis Franklin?’” I asked.

“Of course not,” she said. “You’ll have to wait until he finishes dessert.” She flashed me a smile. “Okay. One down. Who’s next?”