Foal Play: A Mystery (20 page)

“Why would Mr. Salvatore share business information with
you
?” Bill asked, his anger boiling to the surface.

“I don’t know,” Colleen said, irritated at his tone. “Maybe because I asked.”

“Right,” he said under his breath.

“You were with that hoodlum?”

“I asked him a question and he gave me an answer. That’s more than I can say for our conversations lately,” Colleen said to Bill, ignoring Myrtle’s question.

“Excuse me if I’ve been a little put off after finding out Myrtle survived the fire and you knew about it.”

“Aaaaah!” Myrtle roared.

Colleen and Bill jumped. Sparky hastily retreated to his bed in the living room.

“Enough,” Myrtle said, her breathing heavy. “I’m too old for this.”

The room fell silent. Nobody moved. Colleen glanced at Bill and Myrtle. This was not good. If they were going to ascertain who killed Jane Doe and burned Myrtle’s house, strangled the art teacher, buried the heroin on the beach, and also learn the identity of the John Doe that had washed ashore, they were going to have to work together. That meant setting aside differences and hurt feelings—at least until after the crimes were solved.

“I’m sorry, Myrtle,” she said, taking the first step. “I didn’t mean to tell you about Bobby this way. I sincerely hope he didn’t set the fire but in light of what I learned from Pinky, we have to consider the possibility.”

“What about what I learned? Doesn’t that make Nellie a suspect, too?”

“I suppose so,” she said, not wanting to resume arguing. “So we’ve got Bobby and Nellie as possible suspects in the arson and Jane Doe death. And let’s not forget the man with the gun who we saw at the fireworks.”

“What man with a gun?” Bill asked.

“Maybe he’s the drug dealer that killed Miss Kennedy,” Myrtle said to Colleen.

“Excuse me,” Bill tried again. “What man with a gun?”

“It’s a possibility,” Colleen said to Myrtle.

“Hey!” he said, raising his voice and silencing the women. “What man with a gun?”

Myrtle pointed at Colleen, indicating she should tell Bill. Thanks a lot, Colleen thought.

“The night of the fireworks Myrtle and I saw a man with a gun lurking near the Lighthouse. Myrtle thinks she saw some other men with guns, too … before that.”

Bill shook his head in disgust. “And why haven’t you told me about this until now?”

“I forgot?” she said, sheepish.

Bill scowled at them. Colleen and Myrtle squirmed.

“Anything else you two
forgot
to tell me?”

“No,” they said together.

He studied them and sighed. “Okay.”

Silence filled the room. Myrtle fidgeted in her chair. Bill unconsciously tapped his thigh.

Colleen took a deep breath. “So,” she said, gingerly, “where were we?”

“List of suspects, I believe,” Myrtle said.

Colleen glanced at Bill. “Did you find anything out at Joe’s?”

Bill folded his arms and stared at her. “Haven’t you forgotten someone else who might have burned Myrtle’s house? Someone who has a history of burning things.”

He meant Pinky Salvatore. Colleen felt strongly that Pinky hadn’t been involved, but if they were going to include Nellie Byrd on the suspects list, they’d have to include Salvatore. “You’re talking about Pinky.”

“Of course,” Myrtle said. “He’s been trying to get his hands on my property for years.”

“That’s not the only thing he’s been trying to get his hands on,” Bill said under his breath.

Myrtle looked at Bill, puzzled, but Colleen knew what he meant. As absurd as it seemed to her, he was jealous of the time she had spent with the real estate developer. In order to convince him she wasn’t romantically interested in Pinky, she’d have to agree to add Pinky’s name to the growing list of suspects. “Very well. Pinky’s on the list, too,” Colleen said without conviction.

Bill nodded, satisfied.

“So what did the folks at Joe’s say about the missing fisherman?” she asked, wanting to get off the topic of Pinky.

“What missing fisherman?” Myrtle asked.

Colleen held her tongue. She’d let Bill determine what to tell Myrtle. He hesitated. He’s trying to decide if he can trust us, she thought, and hoped Bill wouldn’t hold it against them that they hadn’t told him about the man with the gun.

“Turns out a Pennsylvania man who came down to fish has gone missing,” he finally said. “We’re trying to figure out if a body that washed up on the beach a short time ago is this man.”

“How come I didn’t hear about this on the news?”

“We’ve managed to keep it out of the press.”

“So did you get a name?” Colleen asked, relieved that they were back to collaborating.

“Frank Bremer. His wife signed a release for the dental records. Images should be e-mailed by today, tomorrow at the latest.”

“That’ll help confirm who he is but not what happened to him, why it happened, or if it’s connected to anything else that’s been going on,” Colleen said.

“We won’t know how he died until the coroner’s report, but at least it’s a start.”

Bill’s cell phone rang. He checked the number. “It’s the office,” he said. “Hey, Rodney, what’s up?”

Colleen and Myrtle watched and waited.

“Really? Are you sure? Did he say why?” Bill listened as Rodney spoke on the other end.

Colleen could see by his reaction that he had received some troubling news. She couldn’t imagine what it could be—there had been so much of it lately.

“Thanks for calling,” he said and hung up.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

Bill stood with his hands on his hips. “Charlie confessed to setting fire to Myrtle’s house and, as a result, killing our Jane Doe.”

“Charlie Nuckels?” Myrtle asked, shocked.

“I don’t believe it,” Colleen said.

“Neither do I. But he signed a confession and his boot prints match those found outside the house.”

“All that means is that he was at Myrtle’s. We already knew that.”

“Why would he confess to something he didn’t do?” Myrtle asked.

“There’s more. Apparently, he also confessed to the heroin.”

“This is ridiculous,” Colleen said with growing irritation. “He probably didn’t even know what he was confessing to. You know Charlie.”

“Charlie’s a gentle giant,” Myrtle said sadly.

“ATF has been called in. Looks like we’re gonna have more feds in town. I think they’re trying to link Charlie to Miss Kennedy’s homicide as well.”

How could Agent Garcia possibly think Crazy Charlie committed all those crimes? Maybe she had given the special agent more credit than he deserved. Colleen could just imagine the interrogation scenario in Bill’s office. The agents had probably enticed Charlie to confess with incentives such as cola and ice cream. Knowing Charlie as she did, he would have told them anything if it meant being the center of attention. But sitting in an interrogation room was a picnic compared to federal prison. She shuddered to think what jail might do to him. Despite being a large, imposing man, Charlie had a fragility to him. If confined to a cell, Crazy Charlie just might earn his nickname.

“Bill, we’ve got to do something,” she said, deeply concerned about Charlie’s welfare.

“Not much we can do.”

“But we must. We may not have the same opinion about who committed the arson, but we all know it wasn’t Charlie.”

“Agreed,” Myrtle said.

“We can’t interfere with a federal investigation,” Bill said.

He had a point. It was one thing getting involved in Bill’s local cases; it was another getting involved with the Justice Department. Maybe there was a loophole. “But there’s nothing wrong with talking to our suspects in a general sense, is there?”

“No,” he said. “Okay. How about Myrtle contacts Nellie, you contact Bobby, and I contact Salvatore.”

Colleen didn’t like the idea of Bill visiting Pinky. “I left the phone at Pinky’s trailer. If we don’t want to arouse suspicion, it makes more sense for me to go.”

Bill clenched his jaw. She knew he wasn’t happy with the idea of her being alone with Pinky again, particularly since he obviously believed the developer capable of arson and murder.

“I hate to say it, Sheriff, but Colleen’s right,” Myrtle said. “For some reason, that mobster likes her.”

“Thanks,” Colleen said. “I think.”

“Then at least let me follow you, in case something happens.”

“I think Mr. Salvatore must have surveillance in his development. He and his men always seem to know when I’m coming. If that’s the case, he’ll know something’s up as soon as he sees your vehicle. I’m sorry, Bill, but I’ve got to go alone.”

Colleen knew her argument made sense. She also knew that there was good reason for Bill’s concern. Of all the persons on their list, Pinky seemed the most capable, if not the most probable in her mind, of committing a crime.

“Fine,” he said. “But as soon as you pick up your phone I want you to call me. In the meantime, Myrtle, I’ll drop you at Nell’s shop. You’ll need to be there as Mitch. Pretend like you’re buying lures or something. I’ll pay a visit to your son. He seems to be hanging out at Joe’s a lot lately.”

“Give me a minute to put on my mustache,” Myrtle said and left the room.

Colleen picked up the water glasses and placed them in the sink.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Bill asked.

“If I can handle a station full of men, I can handle Antonio Salvatore,” she said, trying to put him at ease.

Frankly, she was a little nervous about calling on Pinky. Now that he was a suspect on their list, doubts about Pinky’s innocence were creeping in. Had she been wrong to be so cavalier about him? What if there was a dark side to Pinky? And what exactly was she going to say to him when she got there? Telling him that she was there to pick up her cell phone would seem as if she had planted the phone as an excuse to come back and visit him. What if he took it as a romantic gesture?

“Shall we?” Myrtle asked, rejoining them in full disguise.

Colleen, Bill, and Myrtle made their way outside. Sparky followed and whimpered for Colleen to take him with her.

“Stay,” she said. If she was going to be in any type of danger, she didn’t want Sparky with her.

The Border collie flopped down on the porch with a sigh. Bill helped Myrtle into his vehicle as Colleen opened the door to her SUV.

“Colleen?” he said.

She glanced at Bill over the roof.

“Call me as soon as you get your phone.”

Colleen saluted. Bill smiled at her gesture but she could tell he was worried. Truth be told, she was a little worried, too.

As soon as Colleen
cruised into the deserted lot in front of Pinky’s trailer she sensed something was amiss. It was close to ninety-five degrees and yet the front door stood wide open. She had never known him to leave his door ajar. She had learned over the course of her multiple visits that this was for three reasons: 1) Pinky suffered from allergies for which he received shots every other week. 2) He was the king of clean and would never invite dirt into his spotless trailer. And 3) Despite his tendency toward excess in the design of his properties, Pinky was not generally wasteful. The open door was definitely unusual. Maybe she should have brought Bill along after all.

Colleen slowed and parked. She searched the lot for any signs of activity or trouble. A swallow swooped over the windshield and landed on the branch of a nearby pine. She cut the engine, stepped from her vehicle, and eyed her surroundings as she cautiously approached the trailer. The cool sounds of Frank Sinatra crooning “That’s Life” spilled from the office on the draft of seventy-degree conditioned air. She reached the landing and peered in through the door.

“Mr. Salvatore?” she said, not wanting to startle him if he was inside.

Sinatra responded over the speakers but nothing from Pinky. She took a step over the threshold, leaned into the opening, and peeked around the door. She scanned the room and was alarmed to find it littered with broken glass from the coffee table.

“Pinky?” she said and entered. The carpet was damp where champagne had spilled from an overturned bottle and the paintings on one wall were askew. She moved toward the phone in the kitchen to call for help and discovered Pinky unconscious on the floor. Not again, Colleen thought, and rushed to the man’s side. She knelt next to him and listened. She heard the gentle inhalation and exhalation of air and felt his warm breath on her ear. She put her fingers to his neck, found a pulse, and sighed with relief. Pinky had been knocked down but not permanently out.

“That’s Life” faded and “Someone to Watch Over Me”—the next song on the playlist—blared from the speakers. Colleen stood, searched for the controls for the stereo system, and turned the sound down. She returned to Pinky. “Mr. Salvatore? It’s Chief McCabe,” she said, gently patting his hand.

Pinky’s breathing deepened and his eyes blinked open.

“Hello,” she said quietly, not wanting to frighten him in case he was disoriented.

Pinky groaned as he struggled to sit up. She helped him lean against the back of the bar. “Are you okay?”

“I am now that you’re here, my funny valentine.”

Colleen couldn’t help but smile. Even in a semiconscious state he was amorous. “Let’s get you up,” she said and swung her arm behind Pinky’s back and under his arms.

While helping Pinky to his feet and the sofa, Colleen noticed swelling on the side of his head. She eased him down and added pillows to support his back.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” he asked, gingerly touching the bump.

“I left my cell phone here.”

“It’s on the counter,” he said, motioning toward the kitchen.

She spotted her phone on the counter, then turned to examine Pinky. “Mind telling me what happened?”

“My nephew’s what happened,” he said, placing another pillow behind his back. “Max was such a sweet kid—it’s how he got the nickname Sweet Boy—but ever since my sister divorced his father he’s had a tough go of it.”

Colleen’s brows furrowed. Why did that name sound familiar? “He’s been living with you?” she asked.

Pinky nodded and winced. “My sister shipped him down. I think that hurt him—being sent away. She thinks he needs a man in his life since his father has apparently started a new one with a new family.”