Crunch Time

remember is where you put important stuff.

I would have to talk to Arch, who looked especially vulnerable with his shaved head. Then again, he knew what I’d gone through with the Jerk, and he worried when I got into scrapes with bad guys. Like Brad Mikulski, Arch worried about his mother. Now that he was older and knew fencing, it was no wonder he’d thought he could take on a would-be intruder. I shook my head.

When the puffed cakes emerged, they looked and smelled heavenly. I placed them on racks. I cleaned up after myself and finally felt tired enough to think sleep might be possible. I left a note for Tom. When he came in, could he please cover the cakes? Thanks.

As I was heading upstairs, Boyd walked quietly through our front door. He said if it was all right with me, he wanted to stay at our house until all this blew over. Like a storm, I thought. When I hesitated, Boyd said he’d already asked Tom, and he’d said it was fine, as long as it was okay with me.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I said. Arch’s room had two beds, I told him, and he was welcome to one of them, as long as Arch didn’t mind. But Boyd replied that if we had a sleeping bag, he would prefer to bunk on the living room couch. It was a lumpy sofa, I warned him, but he said he’d slept on a lot worse when he was in the army. I found one of our sleeping bags and handed it to him.

In the bedroom, I closed our curtains, changed into pajamas, and lay on our bed to wait for Tom, and for the sleep that my body had promised. But my heart started thumping again, and my skin suffered wave after wave of gooseflesh.

The Breckenridges’ dinner was scheduled for the next evening, and my jumpy mind said all those extra guests would be a challenge. But Yolanda would be there to help, and Ferdinanda had proved her mettle in the kitchen. Plus, we would have Boyd. He didn’t enjoy cooking or serving. Still, when Tom had sent him to watch over me when I was doing an event, and Boyd had been involved in culinary duties, he’d been stoic. Now his only work would be to keep us safe.

Around midnight, Tom came into our room.

“Are you awake?” he whispered. When I told him I was, he said he’d covered the cakes and stored them. He was going to have a quick shower and then come to bed.

“Size-eight boot,” he said without preamble when he slipped between the sheets ten minutes later. “Same as what we found in the mud over at Ernest’s. Our guys are trying to get good photographs of the print. And we’re sending the weeder to the lab to have the blood analyzed, see if we get some kind of hit. The watch cap’s going, too. It didn’t look to us as if there were any hairs in it. But it’s dark out, so maybe the techs will find something we couldn’t see.”

“But you’re thinking it’s our bald guy.”

“That’s my guess at this point.”

“So,” I said slowly, “you’re giving up on the idea that Yolanda burned down Ernest’s house? And her rental?”

“At this point, yes.” Tom paused. “This guy. In a twenty-four-hour period, he burns down Ernest’s house and maybe he steals my gun, although if he had it, it’s a miracle he didn’t use it on Arch. I don’t get it. What’s he up to?”

“I have no idea. Maybe he thinks we have clues to some of Ernest’s cases? Maybe he’s somebody who’s been sent to scare Yolanda? They think she knows something?” When Tom said nothing, I said, “I have a few things to tell you. Charlene Newgate, the secretarial service lady? I’ve known her for a long time, and she’s never had any money. But she’s got lots of it now.”

“You saw her at the CBHS event, the way you planned?”

“I did, and I was very circumspect—”

“You? Circumspect?” Tom interrupted, with a smile in his voice.

“Stop, okay? I asked if she’d ever worked for Drew Parker, and she clammed up.”

“I know. Our guys found the number of the secretarial service in Parker’s office, and she gave them the same silent treatment.”

I continued. “Well, Charlene said she didn’t even know who Parker was, but I think she was lying.”

“My wife, the human polygraph.”

I ignored this. “Charlene is not attractive, okay? But she said she had a new boyfriend, which Marla promised to look into. Charlene was wearing fancy clothes and was driving a Seven-Series BMW.”

“Nice boyfriend. We’ll try to take another run at her tomorrow.”

“Something else. Remember the Hermie Yolanda mentioned, with the missing fingers? I know her. Her name is Hermie Mikulski, and I saw her today at CBHS. She has a son there, named Brad. Hermie’s missing two fingers on her left hand, Tom. That’s new since the last time I saw her. She wants you to call her. And she isn’t old, the way Yolanda said, she just has prematurely gray hair. I can’t believe this is the same Hermie—”

“Let me talk to Boyd again.” Tom put his clothes back on, picked up his cell, and disappeared.

Half an hour later, when I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get any sleep, Tom returned and again began to undress. “Hermie Mikulski’s neighbors say she hasn’t been living in her house for a while. She told them she and Brad would be staying in different motels for a while, until some problem she had is resolved. They know she lost two fingers, but they don’t know how. We left a message on her home phone, we’re trying to get a cell phone number for her, and we’re trying to find out where she is. So far nothing.”

“Doesn’t the school have a number for her?”

“Not at this time of night.” Tom slid between the sheets. “How are you doing?”

“Not so hot,” I said honestly. “Listen, Tom. Marla said something else. Apparently, the house across the street from us sold. The buyers are an older couple with school-age children. Remember when I told you that three people were here this afternoon? The real estate agent who handled the sale of the house brought these people over here to talk to me. When Ferdinanda wouldn’t open the door, they went to Trudy’s.”

“Trudy didn’t see anything.” He sounded discouraged. “We asked her—”

“She can’t see our garage from her place,” I interrupted. “Did she tell you any more about the three people?”

“Just a description. Older couple, both brown-haired, with a gray-haired woman who said she was a real estate agent. But she wasn’t wearing a badge and wouldn’t give Trudy a card. They were only interested in talking to you, but they wouldn’t say why.”

I let this sink in—again. “Can you find out who bought Jack’s house?”

“I can try. Sometimes that kind of thing takes a few days, though, if the agent gives us a hard time or the sale hasn’t closed. Anything else?”

“Well, I wanted to let you know an odd thing that happened.” I waited for him to say what he usually did, which was that odd things were always happening to me. But he didn’t, so I related the story of Yolanda going Chernobyl with Father Pete at the ethnic grocery. “He thought she was certifiable,” I concluded. “Poor thing. She’s been through too much.”

“After the surprised way Kris Nielsen acted this morning when you confronted him?” Tom said. “Does this second incident make you even wonder if Yolanda might be exaggerating the stalking phenomenon? I mean, I know, he was unfaithful and gave her a sexually transmitted disease and hit her with a broomstick. And those things are awful. But—”

“If somebody did all that to me,” I said, “I’d be scared to death.”

“You’re right. But . . . do you believe her?”

“Yes,” I said, but I could hear the uncertainty in my voice. “You?”

“I never believe anyone, Miss G. But I can hold both possibilities in my head. Yolanda is exaggerating and stretching the truth. Yolanda is telling the truth and we’re dealing with a dangerous guy.”

I considered this. “There’s something else I want to tell you. This Peter kid Arch mentioned? The one with leukemia?”

He pulled me close. “Yeah?”

“It made me think, Tom. Ernest was getting thin. He hired Yolanda to cook for him. He invited her to stay in his home, and in exchange all he wanted was meals. He was growing marijuana in his greenhouse. He changed his will all of a sudden, leaving the place to Yolanda—”

“You’re on the right track, Miss G. Our preliminary autopsy indicates he had esophageal cancer.”