Lucky Stuff (Jane Wheel Mysteries) (31 page)

“Dickie drowned. He camped under the bridge near his uncle’s and it stormed and the river came up and got him,” said Nellie. “It wasn’t you.” Jane was surprised to see Nellie pat his arm. Then she added, “So you didn’t kill Dickie, but from what I hear, this crowd’s going to tar and feather you for faking this whole damn roast. And that girl who broke her toe told everybody you faked up the health insurance and everything else you promised them. You better get the hell out of town,” said Nellie. “I can already smell the tar heating up.”

“Nope,” said Lucky, shaking his head. “I ran away last time, but … wait a minute … Who died? Why didn’t my aunt send me back to my folks? If I found out I didn’t do it, what happened to my memory? Why couldn’t I remember?”

“You died, Lucky,” said Jane. “Your dad and mom had an insurance policy on your life and they filed a claim. When they moved to Louisville, they sent you to Canada and they filed a claim, said you drowned in the Ohio River.”

Jane, Nellie, and Oh were sitting on the floor around Lucky, a small enclave protected by the molded plastic seats of lane three. Don must have been in the crowd around lane fourteen where shouts went up again. Now Sal was one strike away from a 300 score.

“Did they collect the money for me?” asked Lucky.

Jane nodded. “I believe they did. I think your dad might have decided to do it after the Boyntons’ scheme with Dickie didn’t work. See, your dad had taken the money for a lot of policies, especially on kids, and not really filed them with the company, playing the odds that there would never be an attempt to collect. He had taken a policy on you, though, because he got a discount and why not take advantage? Probably helped him sell policies if he said he had taken one out on you, too. And the one he took out on you was legit.

“But Dickie wasn’t insured, and since he ran away after the fire, which Ruthie believed you set, they blamed you and your family for everything that went wrong in their own.”

Ruthie was close enough to hear most of what Jane was saying. She bent over in her chair and leaned forward, making her raspy voice as loud as she could.

“I ruined your game, Herman Mullet. I ruined your perfect game!” she screamed.

Not exactly. Lucky didn’t really have a game to ruin.

Instead, Ruthie Boynton ruined Sal’s perfect game. In the silence as he went up to roll his twelfth ball, there was a collective intake of breath. And the scraping of matches being lit. Then Ruthie’s words rang out in the tense quiet, her screech of
perfect game,
the ball was thrown and except for the crashing fall of nine pins, there was no sound at all.

21

Lucky Miller was not tarred and feathered. In fact, the citizens of Kankakee were fairly forgiving, considering they were not going to be treated to a bunch of insult comedians hurling jokes in bad taste at their own Lucky Miller. After all, the excitement and competition leading up to the event had been a lot of fun and most of the people in town who cared about any groundbreaking local events had witnessed an almost perfect game of bowling.

Sal showed an enormous amount of restraint after he bowled the twelfth and his score was recorded overhead as 299. He sat down and tied his shoe and accepted the backslapping and high-fiving, then went over to where Ruthie sat, finally subdued but not exactly repentant. Sal solemnly shook her hand and thanked her.

“I’d hate to think I peaked this early in my life,” he said. “So if you jinxed me, it was meant to be.”

If Jane hadn’t been ready to say yes to a dinner date before that happened, she was ready now.

Before leaving the bowling alley, Lucky was able to grab the microphone located behind the shoe rental. Over the PA system, he explained to those in attendance from Lucky Productions that the insurance glitch Suli had encountered was really a glitch. Although he admitted the show might not go on, everyone had been covered as promised and everyone would get paid as promised. Although there might be a slight delay.

“Including all the tabs you ran up all over town?” shouted Nellie.

There was talk about putting a plaque up at lane fourteen, but Sal asked Rudy not to. He seemed to be entirely serious about not wanting his life to be divided into before his almost perfect game and after his almost perfect game. It was, after all, as he reminded them, just bowling. Tim and Maurice came over, both a little breathless from the excitement. They had not been caught up in the excitement of the bowling, since neither had been paying attention to the X’s going up overhead, but both had caught Jane’s diving save of Lucky Miller and were duly impressed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Tim, whispering to her, as Nellie was giving Maurice the third degree about what he was doing with all those tomatoes he bought at the farmer’s market.

“Perfectly fine,” said Jane. “Exhilarated.”

She made her way over to the catering table and saw that Sam had been right. After Sal had finished his game, everyone had descended on the food, and the platters and baskets held only crumbs. Bruce Oh was having a quiet conversation with Sam. Although Oh looked serious, she could tell he was reassuring Sam he was not responsible for Sluggo Mettleman’s death.

“The kit you took was Lucky’s and the pen would have been emptied by Brenda before it was used on Lucky anyway. You do realize, though, if Lucky had needed it, you would be responsible for him,” said Oh.

“It was stupid. But I wasn’t trying to really hurt Lucky. He told me he didn’t have an allergy, I guess because he knew I’d be making the food and he didn’t want me to worry about stuff I saw him eating. I knew if I played with his pen I wouldn’t be killing him. Sluggo said it was a way to humiliate him, though, if we showed that he didn’t even use the stuff. It was just stupid. Like those horseshoes I had to hang in his office. It was just dumb stuff. Then Ruthie said I should blackmail him and then I could have the restaurant and pay my bills, but I couldn’t even figure out how to do that right.”

“That’s a good thing, Sam,” said Jane. “If you’d actually threatened him or asked for money or given him specific directions, the police would have been called in.”

Lucky came up behind Jane. “No police. If I have any dough left after all the bills are paid, I’ll back your diner, kid. Your grandfather was a good guy and you make a hell of a milk shake. In fact, next time I go into rehab, I’m thinking I might fly you out to cook for me. If I drink those milk shakes every day, I might not miss the Jackie D.”

Lucky had declared an open bar for an hour and no one remembered that he had no way to pay the tab. The noise level built up again as a few teams decided to finish the games they had interrupted. Jane was pleased to hear the familiar crashing of pins resume. Sam had called Ruthie’s home healthcare worker to pick her up and take her home after Lucky had tried to shake hands with her. She hadn’t forgiven him. Old memories, especially the bad ones, the ones that have stood the test of time, don’t erase or flex easily. Lucky was so pleased to have a grasp on his past, he didn’t mind that Ruthie believed the worst of him. Jane was sure that Belinda St. Germaine would have her work cut out for her when Lucky came to grips with the fact that his parents actually gave him up, declared him dead, and collected on his life insurance policy. But right now, Lucky was content with a clear mind and a clean conscience.

Jane looked around the bowling alley and wondered if anyone had given much of a thought to their missing coworker, Sluggo Mettleman. No one had tried to kill him no matter what Jane had overheard him screaming into the phone. The three-leaf clover he had found? Any one of the pranksters on the crew could have dropped that into his bag, thinking it was Lucky’s kit, but no one had tried to kill anyone. Instead of attempted murder, the Lucky Duck cocktail served up here had only contained the equally potent mix of revenge and greed.

In the midst of the noisy celebrating going on, Jane saw the automatic doors open and Mary Wainwright entered on the arm of her off-and-on-again escort, Chuck Havens, another familiar face from Bishop McNamara High School. Jane waved at them and Mary mouthed something to her across the room. Jane shook her head and lifted her palms.

Mary pointed to her throat, lifted the lapel of her jacket, and broadly gestured toward the placket that ran down the front. Jane laughed at the pantomime, but had no idea what Mary was trying to tell her.

Cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting over the noise as she threaded her way closer to Jane, Mary shouted one word. “Buttons!”

Jane smiled at what she thought she heard, then shook her head again. Couldn’t be. Too perfect.

“Buttons! The stone factory made buttons.”

“Buttons?” Jane called back.

“Mother of pearl. From the shells in the Kankakee River. Shell buttons!”

Jane looked over at Don and Nellie, who were now watching her exchange with Mary. Tim had also looked up when he saw Mary and Chuck enter and was shouting something in Maurice’s ear.

“You’re sure it was buttons?” asked Jane.

“Buttons,” said Mary, holding up some pages stapled together and pointing at the copy of her research.

“Sold!” said Jane.

Later, at the Steak and Brew, over a table of drinks and food and in a much quieter venue, Mary and Chuck, Jane and Sal, and Maurice and Tim sat at a round table discussing the events of the day and the real estate deals to come.

Jane told them about her plan to buy the Button Factory, and make it into a live and work space. The modifications that had been done to turn it into Lucky’s studio were perfect for Jane’s new business plan. There was enough room to relocate and expand T & T sales and also to maintain the building as a small studio where, if the spirit moved her, she could rekindle some of her old contacts in advertising, produce a few commercial spots. Why not? In the new economy, Jane thought she just might be able to sell herself as a less expensive alternative to some of the agencies in Chicago. And she was only ninety minutes out of the city. A roof garden with a river view, a loft space to live in at the back, and a work space in the front all seemed doable with her newfound real estate wealth and the insurance check that would arrive soon to cover her lost collectibles.

“Hard to imagine you rattling around in a huge empty space,” said Tim.

“It won’t be empty. Not for long anyway. I’m going to use some of Carl’s furniture and try out a midcentury modern life for a while,” said Jane.

“I knew you couldn’t resist coming back to the Kankakee theater world,” said Mary.

Jane laughed. She really wasn’t planning on trying out for
The Music Man,
but if Mary thought she had a little competition for the lead, it would only make her better prepare for her own audition. What Jane didn’t tell anyone at the table was that she had been taking a long hard look at Don and Nellie and the EZ Way Inn since Carl died. Her parents needed some help. This was going to be a transition time for them and since Jane had Nick happily settled in school, her house sold, and no belongings to weigh her down, why not stop in Kankakee for a while.

And that beautiful building had been a button factory.

“Meant to be,” said Jane aloud.

Sal reacted to Jane’s remark as one directed toward him and he placed his hand over hers. She smiled, and patted his hand with her other one before slipping both away to wave at Detective Oh. She rose to meet her partner, who had just come into the dining room.

“Detective Ramey sends his best wishes,” said Oh, “and he says to also thank you for not bringing any murdered bodies to his doorstep.”

“I’m not sure I can take responsibility for that, but I’ll accept the thanks for now,” said Jane. She had told Oh earlier that she wanted to relocate to Kankakee, to make sure her parents were okay, and she had asked if they could still work together—when he felt her expertise was needed.

“Mrs. Wheel, you are the only partner I wish to have. Our business now has a branch office, which you will head,” he had said. That was just before Nellie talked him into subbing on the EZ Way Inn team and Jane had watched Detective Oh bowl for the first time. Jane was not surprised that he was a natural.

When Jane got back to her parents’ house later that night, she expected Don and Nellie to be in bed. She used her key at the front door and slipped out of her shoes, tiptoeing into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She took out her notebook and drew a large square. She began doodling in walls and bookcases, office space and living space. She drew another elevation for her roof garden. Mary Wainwright was going to put Jane’s offer in on Monday morning, but had already assured her that it would be accepted.

“Place has been on the market for over four years. Owner’ll think he died and went to heaven when he gets this,” said Mary.

Jane sent an e-mail to Nick, telling him she had a big wonderful surprise for him and that they would talk tomorrow.

“It’s tomorrow already,” said Jane to Rita, playing shaggy rug at her feet.

“Sure as hell is,” said Nellie, padding in from her bedroom. “That tea got caffeine in it? You’ll be up all night.” She fixed herself a cup and sat down.

“What about you?” asked Jane.

“I’m immune,” said Nellie. “After drinking EZ Way Inn coffee all those years, whatever I had in me that reacted to strong stuff got killed a long time ago. I could chew grounds and still sleep. If I wanted to sleep that is, and I usually don’t.”

“Mom, how would you feel if I did move back to Kankakee? I’d still work with Tim and Detective Oh, but I have some other ideas for a business,” Jane said. “I’d be around to help you and Dad out, too. If you wanted me to.”

“That’d be all right,” said Nellie. “Your dad would like it.”

“Right,” said Jane. It was no use. Jane was never going to hear what she wanted from her mother. Nellie wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was appreciated, knowing she was doing the right thing. Nellie might want her daughter to come home and help out, but Jane knew she was never going to hear Nellie say it out loud.

“You guys all set for Carl’s memorial?”

“Yup. We’re opening up on Monday, with shorter hours that your dad and I can handle, and then on Friday, we’ll have everybody in and serve food and talk about Carl and I suppose your dad will cry. It’ll be a good way to say good-bye,” said Nellie. “Your brother’s coming in.”