Murder on Consignment (16 page)

Chapter 18

I woke up the next morning tired and cranky.

Two days and counting until Cherry’s wedding which was sure to be the worst catastrophe of my life. I could have killed my mother for talking Sean into being my date. One look at me in that pukey orange dress and he’d run right back into Sarah’s arms.

I tried to shrug off the thought. I had more pressing matters at hand. For one, I was
bone tired. I don’t think I’d slept more than a couple of hours. It was a busy night filling out police paperwork, cleaning glass out of my car, hooking up my computer and catching up on my on-line auctions. I didn’t even have a single caffeinated soda to chase away the morning fuzz and I was due at the parish hall in ten minutes. Considering that it was at least a half-hour drive, I was off to a bad start.

I carefully glanced out my front window and peered down at my alley. Sean’s car was gone, but there was a police cruiser positioned about ten feet from my Volvo. At least I didn’t have to worry about getting gunned down on my back step.

My caffeine depleted brain was thumping by the time I walked into the parish hall. The thumping worsened to a howling scream inside my head when I found Patricia Farrell waiting for me. She seemed to be in hysterics. Mary Frances was trying to console her.

I approached them, a little ashamed that the woman was so upset and all I could think
about was how I would do just about anything for a little caffeine and fizz.

“There you are,” my sister said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why? What’s going on?” 

“It’s Morgan,” Patricia began, her voice cracking. “My daughter-in-law has disappeared. Something terrible has happened, I know it.”

Uh, oh. Now I was in a predicament. I knew, more than likely, nothing terrible had happened to Morgan, unless you count having an extra-marital affair as horrible. Which I did, so maybe Patricia’s hysterics were justified.

Patricia addressed me directly, “I need your help. I’m willing to pay anything.”

Oh, goodness. Suddenly I was wide awake. “What do you think I can do?” I asked tentatively.

“Find Morgan!” she practically screamed.

I paced a few times, trying to figure out how to approach the topic. “I know this may be difficult to think about, but is it possible Morgan has gone off with another man?”

I was trying to break the idea to her gently. I never expected to hear what she said next.

“Another man? Do you think? That would be wonderful!” Her face brightened. Her voice rose with excitement. “If only we could prove it! No judge would ever grant her alimony if she was having an affair.”

Mary Frances and I did a double take.

Then, Patricia dropped her smile and choked out a couple more sobs, switching back into devastation mode so quickly it made me think she might have a severe bipolar disorder.

She started to trembled, her blabbering almost impossible to understand. “I’m afraid of what he’s done …” Tears started to spill.

Mary Frances offered some tissues she’d pulled from her pocket. I was confused. Who was ‘he’? And was Patricia really hoping Morgan had a lover?  What about her poor son?

“My husband,” Patricia continued, “is not at all what he seems to be. He can be so controlling,” she finished.

No doubt.

She blew her nose and went on. “I think he might have done something to her. I’m really afraid.”

“You’re afraid your husband did something to her? What about J.J.?  He seems to be the one that has the most to be angry about,” I said, still thinking about Alex and the leg I saw in his hotel room.

“No, you don’t understand. You see, Morgan and J.J. haven’t been getting along for some time. They’re practically living two separate lives.”

“Really?  I thought they were building a house together.”

“That house. That damn house!” Patricia had moved beyond crying; now she was just angry. “That’s all that gir
l cares about. I told J.J. she wasn’t the girl for him. Why, she came from nothing. Nothing! Her father was a plumber, of all things. She just dug her little claws into my son for his money and all she cares about is that stupid house. Like a house is going to make her someone. She’ll never be anyone.”

Ugh. Patricia was showing her true colors and they weren’t pretty. Even Mary Frances stepped back and was regarding her with disdain.

“He even married her without a prenuptial agreement. He was so stupid. His father and I told him this would happen. In fact, J.J. lied to us and told us he had a prenuptial when he never actually had her sign one. He was so in love and thought it would never end. Well, here we are ….” she waved her hands dramatically. “The little snip approached James last week and told him she was going to file for a divorce. She had hired some private investigator to follow J.J. and had proof of an affair. She threatened to sue him for a bundle, unless James settled with her. She wanted him to pay a huge cash settlement, including shares in the company, plus have that darn house built.”

Huh, I thought.
Morgan wasn’t that stupid after all. If she received the money up front she’d be free to live her life however she chose. Whereas, alimony could be revoked if she chose to remarry. Plus, she’d have a great house to live in—all paid for.

“James was furious. I’ve never seen him so angry before. He couldn’t believe that little tripe was trying to work him over.”

Of course, I reasoned, James must have thought Morgan should put up with J.J. having a woman on the side. After all, he had done that sort of thing for almost his entire married life and it seemed to work great for him.

“What is it you expect me to do?” I asked. I was losing patience with these people, but if she was willing to pay me to find Morgan … well … I could overlook a lot of their nutty antics.

“Well,” Patricia regarded me with deer-like eyes. “I don’t expect you to want to help me, but I was hoping you could look for Morgan. Your sister says you’re good at that type of thing.”

I looked up at Mary Frances. She smiled encouragingly.

Patricia looked at me hopefully. “Maybe you could find her before something terrible happens.”

“Why not call the police?”

“Because, if James has done something, I don’t want them involved.”

“What about J.J? What makes you think that your son isn’t involved in her disappearance? I mean, wouldn’t he be upset tha
t she wanted a divorce?” I thought I’d throw that out, although after overhearing J.J.’s phone conversation the day before, I doubted he knew anything about Morgan’s whereabouts.

Patricia practically snorted. “James Junior?  He’s not the type. You’ve met him. He’s gentle and kind. Not at all like his father.”

Yeah, I had met the guy. Hairless, puny, and foul mouthed, but gentle? Who knew? Maybe he had more of his father in him than Patricia realized.

“Of course,” Patricia added. “I’d pay you whatever you want. Just name it. Whatever.”

I was a bit taken back by that. I paused, visions of zeros dancing through my head. Hmm … just how much should I charge? 

“I’m just trying to stop something horrible from happening,” Patricia interjected. “I’m trying to help Morgan. If you find her, I’ll pay for her to disappear. I’ll give her enough money to get out of my son’s life forever. All you have to do is find her. Please.”

I considered the situation for a minute before replying, “I’ll look for her. However, if I find out your husband has done something to her, I won’t hesitate to tell the cops. It’ll cost you a thousand bucks for my time. Plus, I want the money now, upfront.” What I was really thinking was that James Farrell had just moved up to the number one spot on my suspect list. If he was capable of hurting someone like Morgan, then he would have no problem killing Jane and Pauline.

“Fine,” Patricia agreed, not even blinking at my fee. I should have asked for more.

As long as I had her attention, I decided to pull out the big guns and try to get some of my own information. “Speaking of your husband and his control issues, what did Calina Sokolov have on your husband that he’d kill for?”

Mary Frances gasped. Patricia, however, didn’t. In fact, except for a slight narrowing of her eyes, her expression barely changed.

“What are you talking about?” Patricia seemed more indignant over the mention of her husband’s deceased lover than the fact that he might have murdered someone.

“Let’s not play games here, okay
Patricia?  Everyone knows Calina Sokolov was your husband’s mistress. When she died her estate was sold off in auction. Several antique dealers purchased pieces of her estate and two of them were killed. One of them was a friend of mine. I can’t help but think your husband is somehow involved. Especially, now that you’ve told me how ‘controlling’ he can be.”

Patricia regarded me coldly. “I don’t know anything about Ms. Sokolov’s e
state and I can assure you my husband wouldn’t bother killing an antique dealer. If there was something he wanted, he would have paid for it. Price wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Are you aware that James fathered a child with
Calina? A son. Alex Sokolov.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

She was lying, I could tell. “Sure you do. He’s twenty some years old. Are you really going to tell me you didn’t know about him?”

“That’s enough,
Pippi,” Mary Frances said, moving between Patricia and me. I was a little surprised that my sister felt protective over this cold, heartless woman, but whatever. I wasn’t going to get anything out of Patricia Farrell anyway. I’d have to prove James’ guilt on my own.

“Where’s Morgan’s family?” I asked, getting back to the task at hand.

Patricia snorted again. “Her family? Her mother died a couple of years back. Auto accident, I think. Her father has been in and out of rehab ever since. He’s a drunk. Last I heard he was spending six weeks at The Knolls, trying to dry up.”

“The Knolls? That’s expensive, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, Morgan spends my son’s hard earned money on more than just designer outfits and expensive handbags.”

“I see. Where else would she go for help? Any other family? Friends?”

“She didn’t have any other family that I know of and I really didn’t bother to get to know her friends.”

I’m sure she didn’t. I wasn’t going to have much to go on.

Patricia handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s her cell number. I thought maybe you could put a tracer on it or something.”

Who did she think I was? Some sort of CIA operative? 

Patricia scribbled out a check and took out another piece of paper from her purse. “Here’s your check and I’m jotting down my numbers. Call me as soon as you know something. Anything.” With that said, she tossed down her used up tissues and left.

After she’d gone, Mary Frances turned to me. “I pray that Morgan is alright. That poor girl. How would you like to be married into that horrible family? All these years and I never realized just how sick they are.”

“Well, don’t feel bad, Sis. I think they’ve got a lot of people fooled.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to find her?” she asked.

“I have no idea. I don’t have a lot to go on. She could be anywhere.”

My sister nodded. She looked around the room. No doubt she felt as overwhelmed as I. “Listen,” she said. “You have better things to do
than hang around here. I’ll call some of the sisters to come over and help. Between all of us, we’ll be able to easily finish and be ready for the sale on Saturday.”

I did a mental slap. I had overbooked my Saturday—garage sale, Weenie-gig, and Cherry’s wedding. Ugh! “Ab
out Saturday,” I began, “I probably won’t be able to stay and help for long. I sort of have another job I promised I’d do.”

“No problem. There’ll be ple
nty of people here. I’ll meet you at the wedding. You get out of here now and look for Morgan. I’ll be praying for you.”

At the time, I had no idea
how much I was going to need those prayers.

Chapter 19

I’d barely made it to my car when my cell rang. It was Cherry.

“Phillipena. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“You have?”

“I wanted to remind you to be at the pumpkin patch by 5:30 tomorrow night?”

“The pumpkin patch?”

“Yes, for the rehearsal
, silly.”

“You’re getting married at a pumpkin patch?”

“Where have you been? Yes, we’re getting married at Stumpy’s Pumpkin Patch. You knew that!”

“I did?”

“It’s a fall wedding. Where else would we get married?”

Where else indeed? Oh, no. I was going to blend in with all those giant pumpkins. What would Sean think?

“Just be there at 5:30 sharp. No excuses. We’re going to have chili and sandwiches afterwards. Bring a sweater, it’s supposed to be a little cool,” she added before hanging up.

I sa
t in my car, trying to block the wedding from my mind and concentrate on my own situation. While I truly hoped nothing bad had happened to Morgan, she wasn’t my main priority. My real focus was still on finding Pauline’s murderer. Besides, Morgan was probably hiding somewhere with Alex.

Alex. Alex was the one person that might be able to clear up a few of my questions. Maybe he had an idea
to what type of document his mother would keep inside an old book. I just knew the envelope Pauline found was the key to all this.

I patted the check in my pocket. Easy money. I alr
eady had an idea of where I could find Morgan.

*

I was headed for Calina Sokolov’s house. My best guess was that if something terrible hadn’t already happened, Morgan was hiding out there with Alex. I needed to warn her. I also needed to find out what Alex knew about the envelope.

Under any other circumstances, I would have enjoyed the walk thro
ugh the Ukrainian Village. The air was crisp and the colorful foliage stood out against the cloudless blue sky, but as it was, all I could think about was how complicated my life had become. My best friend was sick, my finances were a wreck, my car and my love life … they were all a mess. Not to mention the impending pumpkin disaster. The only consolation, I rationalized, was that my life wasn’t as messed up as Morgan Farrell’s. She was married to a two-timing, bald, son of a psychotic murderer. That is, if she was still alive.

In the week since I had been there, not much had changed on the outside of
Calina Sokolov’s house, although now it had a feeling of emptiness. It was as if her spirit had finally faded from the confines of the walls. As I approached the front door, I found myself wondering about the person who spent so many years living in this home as a kept woman. Was she happy with her circumstances or did she always hold onto the dream that James would marry her? How tragic that she died alone without her lover or son by her side.

I knocked several times but received no response. Stepping down off the porch, I made my way around the side of the house and pried open the back gate. A quick peek told me there was no one in the back yard. I made my way around the other side of the house and crawled thro
ugh some bushes and stretched onto my tippy toes to look through the side window.

Suddenly I heard a cracking sound from behind. I turned and found myself staring down the barrel of a shot gun. On the other end was a not-too-steady Mrs.
Stansilov, Stanislav, or whatever, dressed in an overly bright flowered house coat with her wiry gray hair whooshed back from her face. She looked a little like a half-crazed, cross-dressing version of Albert Einstein. I shuddered with fear.

“Go ahead, make my day,” she said, her large knuckled, arthritic finger dangerously close to the trigger.

Oh great. She was a Clint Eastwood fan. I was doomed. Why couldn’t she have just stuck to the daytime game shows?

“Hello, Mrs. Stanislav. Do you remember me? We visited the other day,” I said softly, trying to ease the situation.

“Yeah, I remember you. You’re that stupid insurance investigator that accused Calina of being a Russian mobster.”

Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t so wrong about that theory. I mean, maybe the whole block was some sort of mob compound. Grandma Stanislav here was probably the enforcer.

I stammered for a response. “Uh, well I was mistaken about that. Further investigations have proven my initial theory was all wrong. In fact, I’m here today to follow up on a lead we’ve received concerning Ms. Sokolov’s son, Alex. I’d like to tell you about it, but you’d have to put the gun down.”

She transferred the shotgun to one hand and reached down to her crotch with her other hand yanking fervently at her panty hose. A few hose rings disappeared from around her ankles. “What about that no-good son of hers?” she asked, still holding the bobbing barrel at my chest level.

“You were right about him being rotten. It seems he may be involved in kidnapping a woman,” I said, making it up as I was talking. I had no idea what to say to this woman to make her put down the gun.

“A woman, you say?”

“Yes. Have you seen a woman here, Mrs. Stanislav?”

“Maybe I have.” The old woman was starting to shake again. Her gripped tightened on the gun as she narrowed her eyes on me. “Maybe she didn’t look like no kidnapped girl, though. Maybe they seemed to know each other. So, maybe you’re just full of crap.” 

I watched in horror as her finger moved to the trigger. Then, as if she was a seventh grader with ADD, she let go and started working on her hose. The barrel started bobbing again. I cringed. Then, there was a sudden flash of light and a thunderous boom. I ducked as glass behind me shattered. Looking up, I saw that the recoil of the gun had knocked Mrs. Stanislav to the ground in a rumpled heap of housecoat and pantyhose.

I knew an opportunity when I saw one. I took off as fast as I
could. I was past Hoyne Avenue when I started hearing the sirens. I slowed down to a normal walking pace and tried to act casual. No need to spend hours at the local precinct answering questions. Good thing that old bat didn’t know my real name. The cops could spend days looking for Prudence Overton.

Although, however deranged Mrs. Stanislav was, she had confirmed some
thing I needed to know. She said that the woman at Alex’s house looked like she wanted to be there. That could only mean one thing. I was right about Morgan. There was also a good chance she was alive and off somewhere with Alex, or perhaps simply hiding from her murderous father-in-law.

I headed back to Naperville, feeling a little shaky and drained. It occurred to me that wi
th all the adrenaline surges I had probably burned off at least a thousand calories. I could afford to replenish a few at the local drive-thru.  

Since it would be impossible to order through windo
ws covered in plastic and duct tape, I had to go inside. I decided to park my conspicuous looking vehicle in the back of the lot by the fenced-in dumpsters.

I chose a sunny, corner booth in which to sit and enjoy my fully loaded burger, large fry, and icy cold soda. I was just about finished when Mary Frances called.

“Hey, any luck finding Morgan?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? It’s only been a few hours
since we talked to Patricia. Morgan could be anywhere.”

“Well, what have you been doing?”

What have I been doing?
I chomped down hard on a fry and debated my reply. It’s not like I could actually tell her I’d been accosted and shot at by a gun-toting-granny with sagging hose. “Just checking out a few leads,” I finally replied, keeping it simple.

“Leads?”

“Well, I went to Calina Sokolov’s house, thinking I could find Alex and question him.”

“Did he know anything about Morgan?”

“Well, actually he wasn’t there. I talked to the neighbor though and she said she’d seen him with a woman. She said they seemed romantic,” I said, trying to recall just what it was that Mrs. Stanislav had said. It was hard to remember anything but the double barrels pointed at my chest.

“That’s
good, isn’t it? That means Morgan is with Alex and not dead. Oh this is great news! Did you tell Patricia yet?”

“No.”

“Well, call her right away. She seemed crazy with worry this morning. I tell you, Pippi, I’m so glad to hear that Morgan is alright. Say what you want about how weird that family is, but Morgan … well, she doesn’t deserve to be hurt. She’s young and confused. She’d be better off getting away from that family, don’t you think?”

I thought back to my encounters with JimDog and the rest of the Ferrells. “Definitely,” I agreed.

I hung up with Mary Frances and placed a quick call to Patricia. She answered on the first ring.

“Did you find Morgan?” she said, bypassing any sort of greeting.

“No, but I did find out that she’s okay. She’s with Alex Sokolov.”

There was a slight pause on the other end. “How do you know that?” Patricia finally asked.

“I went by his mother’s house and one of the neighbors told me.”

“She said she had seen Morgan with Alex?”

“Well, she said that she had seen him a lot lately with a woman. In fact, she mentioned that she had just seen them together yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah. So I’m assuming Morgan and Alex are off somewhere, maybe hiding while your husband cools his jets.”

“I see. Well, that’s good news. Please call me if she contacts you.”

“Sure. Um, speaking of your hot-tempered husband, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be too happy about the fact that you hired me to look into Morgan’s disappearance.”

“Don’t worry. I can hand
le James. You just make sure to call me if you hear anything else about Morgan.”

I hung up, pitched my wrappers, and refilled my soda. I headed for my car feeling much better. Surprising what a little caffeine could do to boost my mood. Or at least that’s what I was thinking until I saw my car. I dropped my soda and clasped my hands over my mouth stifling a scream.

I was shaking so badly it took three tries before I successfully punched in Sean’s number. In less than five minutes a cop car rolled into the lot. Officer Wagoner was driving. She and the other cop, a young Hispanic man, joined me. We stood looking at the mess before us.

“Is it blood?” I asked, staring at hateful message on the side of my car,
Die Bitch!

“Have you touched anything?” Officer Wagoner asked.

I shook my head. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the words. For some reason the dripping red letters reminded me of that spooky little kid doing the finger thing and repeating redrum, redrum, in his scratchy little voice. I shuddered.

“Why don’t you ste
p back inside, Miss,” the Hispanic officer suggested.

Wagoner placed
her arm around me and started guiding me back across the lot. “Yeah, let’s go sit down and wait for Panelli. He’s on his way. He wants to be the one to question you.”

I went
in and settled back into the corner booth. Ten minutes later Sean walked in.

“It’s not blood,” he said, sliding
across from me. “Just red paint, but you’ll need a new paint job. And, one of your tires was slashed.”

“It was?” Guess I hadn’t noticed much beyond the diabolic message. The thousand that Patricia had signed over wasn’t going to go far enough to replace the windows and get a paint job. I resolved to make an
insurance claim and suffer higher premiums.

“We’ve checked with all the employees,” he continued. “No one saw it happen. What made you park in such a secluded spot?”

“I was embarrassed by my windows,” I muttered, thinking that the windows were nothing compared to having ‘Die Bitch’ written on my car in hideous red paint. What was my mother going to think?

“I see. Do you think it was one of the Farrells?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I shrugged. “There’s been a lot going on. Morgan has disappeared and Patricia is paying me to find her.”

Sean sat up straighter. “What? I don’t think a report’s been filed.”

“No, Patricia wanted to keep it quiet until she knew what was going on. Actually, she paid me to investigate because she was afraid James had done something horrible to Morgan. It sounds like the guy is pretty unstable.”

“So you think maybe he did this to your car?”

“Could be. I just don’t know. Anyway, Patricia claims Morgan was extorting them.”

“Extorting them?”

“Yup. For a new house. You see, Morgan is married to their son, J.J, I think I’ve already told you about him, but anyway, J.J. is cheating on her and she has proof. So, she told James that if he would pay for a new house and give her a boat-load of cash, she wouldn’t press for alimony, which I’m thinking, may include a share in the family business. Who knows?  I guess James thought J.J. had a prenuptial signed before marrying Morgan, but he didn’t. So, now she’s in the driver’s seat, so to say. Patricia said James was so irate he could have possibly done something to Morgan, so that’s why she’s hired me. Actually though, I think Morgan is just off with Alex.”