Bingo Barge Murder (4 page)

Eddy slid into a chair at a battered card table and Coop sat next to her. “Watch your head, child,” Eddy warned as I started toward the table and nearly knocked myself for a loop on a rafter in the sloped roof.

“What on earth is this … this room, doing here?” I was still having a hard time believing I was above the garage.

Eddy patted my hand. “It was built a long time ago. It’s my own private Underground Railroad, a safe place for those in need. It’s been used mostly by women and their children running from abusive boyfriends, husbands, that kind of thing. The Mad Knitters helped restore it a few years back.” Eddy gazed around the room and sighed. “Maybe it was more than a few years. We fixed it up so it’d be almost soundproof from below, lightproof, too. It’s got an electric heater, and somewhat decent ventilation, although it can get pretty close up here during the summer.”

The Mad Knitters met on a semi-weekly basis at the Rabbit Hole, supposedly to make progress on their knitting skills, but they usually ended up around Eddy’s kitchen table playing pinochle or poker instead. The previous summer, Eddy bestowed honorary membership upon Coop. He gamely tried but still struggled with coordinating the knitting needles and not poking his eye out. He told me more than once that he heaved a big sigh of relief when they set down the yarn and picked up the cards.

“I guess you could call all of us modern-day Harriet Tubmans. We protect anyone who fears for their safety for whatever reason.” Eddy sighed again. “Too many reasons to be fearful nowadays.”

I was dying to hear more about this secret room and the people who had passed through it, but I suppressed my urge to badger. Later, when we had time, Eddy had some explaining to do.

Coop eagerly leaned toward me. “What’d you find out from Rocky?”

I launched into the story, ending with the names Rocky had given me. “Msritabuzzrileymslavonneandsomebig.”

Coop burst out laughing. “Nice.”

“So who are they?” Eddy asked.

“He means Rita Lazar, Buzz Riley, and Lavonne Smith.” Coop said. “They’re all bingo players. I don’t know who he means with ‘and some big’ though. A big huge man? We have a few that would fit that description.”

I said, “Any of the people Rocky listed a possible deadly dauber wielder?”

Coop thought about that for a moment. “Rita? Man, I just can’t see it, but she does have a temper from hell. Buzz Riley is just an asshole. I can see him taking a whack. Lavonne … well, she’s just plain crazy. I don’t think she’s lethal, though.”

“Is there any chance we can get an eyeful of these bingo players?” Eddy suggested. “Maybe they’re on that video the detectives told Shay about.”

“I don’t know,” Coop said. “The system’s digital. If they left the hard drive, we’d probably be able to see the video.”

I asked. “Wouldn’t we be able to see the video of who killed Kinky, then?”

Coop met my eyes. “If Kinky was killed after the bingo session was over, it wouldn’t show. The system stops recording when the safe is locked for the night. Unless—the safe hadn’t been locked yet.” Coop sat up straighter. “Hey, maybe there’s a chance the killer
is
on it.”

Eddy shook her head. “Uh uh. If they had the killer on tape, there’d be an APB out on him and all the questioning those two detectives did would have been time wasted. They’d have come right out and said they were looking for Nicholas Cooper, Bingo Boss Brutalizer. If you watched more
Law & Order
, you’d know that.”

We sat in silence for a couple of moments. I pondered how much faith we could place in the accuracy of primetime cop shows. Then I said, “I think we need to check out Kinky’s office, look in his files. Maybe we can find out who he wasn’t getting along with.”

“Child, I do like the way you think. We can find us some rigged bingo cards or something!” Eddy’s grin held lots of wattage.

“Hey, listen, you two burglar wannabes,” Coop said, a frown slicing his forehead. “Bad idea. Don’t you think the cops are still all over the barge?”

Eddy snorted. “You got a lot to learn about the police, Nicholas. They been there and did their crime scene stuff, and they’re long gone.” She rubbed her hands together like a kid about to dive into a birthday cake. “When are we gonna do the job?”

No way in hell was I traipsing out on a barge on the Mississippi River tonight. I said, “With Coop hiding out up here, time’s not as critical as it would be if he were wandering the streets. Tomorrow night. I don’t think it would be wise to go skipping in there during the daylight.”

Coop said, “How are we going to get in? Don’t you think the cops will have it locked up?”

Eddy rolled her eyes. “Boy, where is your head? Why did you go back to that barge this morning?”

Coop shrugged. “I went to talk to Kinky again and try to convince him to give me one more chance.”

“And?” Eddy stared at Coop expectantly.

Comprehension flooded Coop’s narrow face, and his cheeks flushed. “To give him back the keys.”

Eddy sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Bingo.”

I shook my head. “Coop, I love you, but sometimes you’re a big dope.”

I rolled out of
bed after drifting in and out of sleep most of the night, a familiar honey-laden voice haunting my dreams, teasing me, taunting me to tell the truth. Awake and out of bed, I imagined that voice whispering things that weren’t related to interrogating, arresting, and booking me. I tried to shake off the lingering thoughts of a certain Minneapolis detective as I automatically pulled the covers up and fluffed the pillows—thanks to years of listening to Eddy harp, “Child, you need start the day out on the right foot, and the best way to do that is to make your bed like a civilized person.”

After a quick shower, I stuffed myself into a worn-at-the-knee pair of Levi’s and a Rabbit Hole t-shirt. I shook out a sweatshirt and tugged it over my head as I walked out of my bedroom.

I fancied my interior décor spartan, but Eddy called it just plain cheap. A seldom-used TV and a ratty couch took up most of the living room. My other furniture consisted of my mother’s antique roll-top desk and an old wooden, swivel-type office chair. I settled into the chair, its familiar creaking as comforting as it was irritating. I picked up a bill from our advertising guru Amy Connolly and whipped out a check. Amy was one person I didn’t mind coughing up the dough for. When we’d hooked up with her a couple years ago, our customer count went through the roof, and our return business remained rock solid.

Done with that task, I briefly allowed myself to fall into the memory of my mom working at this very desk, trying to pay bills with money we didn’t have while I happily Crayola’d secondhand coloring books on the floor next to her, never for a moment feeling like we didn’t have enough. The strength of her love hadn’t faded with time and could still wind around me like a warm blanket. With a deep sigh, I funneled those bittersweet thoughts neatly back into the recesses from which they’d drifted and trotted downstairs, past Eddy’s French doors, through a short hall, and into the Rabbit Hole.

A few customers quietly conversed at the tables, and Jim Brickman’s piano playing gently swirled from speakers mounted to the walls. Sinking into one of the cushioned chairs in the corner, I closed my eyes and rubbed my face, trying hard to convince myself that yesterday’s events had been a strangely lucid and horribly vivid nightmare.

Kate stood behind the counter, her spiked fuchsia hair bobbing behind the espresso machine as she finished off a drink. She caught my eye, smiled, and moments later appeared by my side with a newspaper and a steaming hazelnut latte.

“What would I do without you?” I gratefully took the mug from her.

She perched on the padded arm of my chair. “Go out of business.”

Kate was right. The woman was a human hummingbird, a front-of-house queen. When she needed to, she could move so fast you hardly realized she was doing anything at all. What she did was everything. I’d never be able to keep the place afloat without Kate. And she felt the same way about me. I was the behind-the-scenes muscle, coordinating PR, finances, orders, and whatever other pesky details came up. Neither of us could do the other’s job, but together we were a great business team. It was one of the many reasons Kate and I’d never hooked up—hanky panky between business partners was the kiss of death.

“So, you mind if I borrow your cabin weekend after next? I have a,” Kate paused with a smirk, “
mucho caliente
muchacha
I’d like to entertain in the deep woods.”

My family owned a cabin on Finch Lake outside of North Branch on forty acres of forested land. My dad hunted there in the fall, and we used the cabin year-round.

I grinned. “Be my guest. Just wash the sheets before you leave.”

“Excellent. Changing the subject, are you going to tell me what was with the cops yesterday?”

I leaned my head against the cushion and groaned. “I wasn’t dreaming then.” So much for my vivid nightmare theory.

Kate laughed. “Unless I’m having the same dream, nope. But you know, JT’s still a hot little she-devil. Wouldn’t mind having a dream or two about her.”

I agreed, but kept that to myself. “Believe me when I say you don’t want to know.”

“Ohhhh-kay, whatever. What are you going to do with your day off?” Kate asked as she stood up. She glanced at the front door, the sound of the bells attached to it chiming merrily as it opened. Kate said quietly, “Speak of the she-devil.”

Sure enough, the she-devil was closing our front door. Crap. My heart thumped, and I was caught in a vortex of being strangely pleased and outright terrified. Ugh. I was not awake enough to do the question-and-answer dance.

Kate abandoned me and made a beeline back to the counter. I took a gulp of my latte, silently swearing when the hot liquid singed my tongue.

Detective Bordeaux strolled up to the counter and chatted with Kate for a moment. She hadn’t yet seen me, which gave me a chance to size her up. She was a bit taller than Kate’s five-six, with a solid, medium build compared to Kate’s willowy body. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail again. Wearing a black blazer, faded blue jeans, and black boots with deep treads, she looked good. And more than ready to kick some bad-guy booty.

Kate bustled around making a drink for the good detective. I knew it would again be a cappuccino with a double shot. She was the type to stick with the same thing once she found something she liked. Was that how she stepped into relationships, or was she more Kate-esque, footloose and lovin’ free? As JT spoke, the light from the window caught her cheek, throwing the hollows of her face into shadow. Attractive. Very attractive. She appeared the quiet, studious type, and I wondered if she liked to read. If she did, she probably went for something non-fiction and stuffy, like those big books about Important Social Issues whose authors made it onto C-SPAN’s Book TV.

My yo-yoing thoughts evaporated when JT chuckled and murmured something to Kate, who pointed in my direction. The little traitor.

Detective Bordeaux walked over and stopped beside my chair. “Mind if I sit down with you?” Not waiting for an answer, she lowered herself into the chair opposite me, on the edge of the cushion, feet on the ground, ready for action. Did the woman ever relax?

I tried out a grin. “What brings you to this neck of the woods today, Detective?”

She blew on the steaming liquid in her to-go cup, and then said, “Come on, Shay, it’s just me, JT. The drink Kate made me yesterday is still the best cappuccino I can find in town.”

Now my smile was genuine. “Yeah, that’s Kate. She’s amazing.”

JT took a sip. “Have you seen Mr. Cooper yet?” She studied me intently, like a bug under a bright light.

So much for small talk. Honey, I thought, if you knew how close you were to Coop you’d have a coronary. Or haul me to jail.

“No.” I held my breath, waiting for the god of honesty to strike me dead.

She continued to stare, her dark-chocolate eyes not as hard as they had been the previous day. She had to know I was lying through my teeth, crowns, and cavities. The cops probably staked us out and witnessed Coop’s presence last night and she was biding her time, waiting for my confession. Almost as soon as that thought crossed my mind, it fled. They’d have busted in and arrested all of us—Coop for a murder he didn’t commit, and Eddy and me as accessories after the fact or aiding and abetting or some other fancy legal phrase for hiding a fugitive.

The dark eyes that bore into mine were inscrutable as JT took another hit of her capp. She asked, “How long have you and Kate owned the Rabbit Hole?”

What did that matter? Was she here to rattle my chain? Under different circumstances, I would have thoroughly enjoyed chit-chatting and maybe even trying out a move or two on her. She was my type: probably unattainable, slightly dangerous, and definitely a challenge.

I said, “We’ve been open now for a little more than four years. Kate and I are partners, actually.”

Did I catch a fleeting air of disappointment before her professional mask fell back into place? Interesting. She had to know a year ago that Kate was single, but I supposed a lot could have changed in the intervening time. “Business partners,” I amended, and watched JT’s face. An eyebrow rose slightly and she gave an almost imperceptible nod.

I mentally shook myself. I had a terrible tendency to chase after what intrigued me, and she definitely fit the profile. However, this woman was a cop. She wasn’t interested in anything but catching Coop, and I needed to cool it.

“Where’s your sidekick?” I asked, at a loss for what to say that wouldn’t incriminate me in one way or another.

“He’s out doing some follow-up.” JT regarded me for another moment, and then tugged the sleeve of her blazer up and glanced at her watch. “In fact, I have to meet him in a few minutes.” She tilted the cup to her lips again, the smooth play of her neck muscles mesmerizing me as she swallowed the liquid.

I’d have loved to get to know that sensitive soft spot below her ear and behind her jawbone. If only she were looking for someone other than my best friend. I mentally slapped myself. Jesus, O’Hanlon. What was wrong with me?

“This capp really is excellent. I’ll be in touch.” With that she stood and walked to the condiment bar, grabbed a lid, and snapped it on her cup. Over her shoulder she said to me, “If you hear anything from Mr. Cooper, call me.” It’s wasn’t a request. I swallowed hard as she said goodbye to Kate and left.

The jingle of the bells faded, and Kate returned to me, a wide grin on her face.

“You snitch,” I said.

Kate raised an eyebrow, smirked. “She was nice. Tipped me five bucks.”

“Taking bribes now, are you?”

“Bills, babes … you know how it goes.” Kate winked at me and floated toward a customer waiting impatiently at the counter.

_____

Coop, Eddy, and I spent the balance of the afternoon and early evening planning our bingo hall break-in. Eddy, trumping our protests, refused to be left out. She assured us she’d worn clean underwear in case we were busted.

The darkness of midnight weighed heavily as we piled into Eddy’s old yellow pickup and rumbled toward the Pig’s Eye Bingo Barge.

“My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be in the dark,” Eddy said, squinting out the windshield as we zoomed down Interstate 94. I learned long ago to say multiple prayers to multiple gods whenever I climbed into a vehicle Eddy was piloting. The woman handled the pickup as if she were in a qualifying heat for a
NASCAR race. Anytime we arrived at our destination in one piece, I resisted the overwhelming urge to fling myself to the ground and kiss the earth in thanks.

The stars and the moon were blotted out by clouds, and the blackness was thick behind the tall mercury vapor lights lining the freeway. It would be a good night for some B&E, provided we made it there intact.

A few minutes and a few white knuckle moments later, we pulled into a ten-car parking lot across from the street that wound along the river, about a quarter-mile from the Bingo Barge. Eddy cut the motor and switched off the headlights. Blackness engulfed us. We sat unmoving, holding our breaths, waiting to see if a squad car was going to come roaring up with lights blazing.

We’d all dressed in black, with the exception of Eddy’s neon-green high tops. No amount of cajoling convinced her to put on less attention-grabbing footwear. She told us in no uncertain terms they were her lucky shoes, and she couldn’t be part of a break-in without them. For our protection, Eddy also had her “Whacker,” a 12-inch baseball bat she’d gotten at some long ago Twins game. Eddy hung around the Rabbit Hole often and fancied herself the unofficial Hole bouncer. She’d whip out the Whacker when she thought someone might be getting out of hand after ingesting too much caffeine. To date, she’d only clobbered one guy, and he deserved it because he’d tried to filch a handful of bills out of the till when Kate’s back was momentarily turned.

Coop had the keys to the barge clenched in his fist. A portable tool kit in my pocket poked into my thigh. We each had a flashlight and a set of plastic serving gloves I’d lifted from the Hole.

I nudged Coop, who sat next to the door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” My heart thudded in my ears. I hoped Eddy’s ticker was doing okay. I shook off the thought. Why was I so fixated on the state of Eddy’s heart? Must be afraid she’d exit stage right before I was ready to let her go. As if I’d ever be ready.

We three huddled at the back of the truck.

“Let’s walk along the side of the bank next to the river,” I whispered. “We’ll be less visible from the road.”