Salvaged to Death (5 page)

“I wondered if we might have a little chat,” Hal said.

Mr. Tomkins softened slightly at his friendly tone. It was hard for anyone to resist Hal when he was being charming. Lucky for him he was almost always in the mood to be charming.

“All right by me,” Mr. Tomkins said. Sadie studied Bo. Her attempt at surreptitiousness was foiled when he met her gaze with a bold one of his own. His eyes were narrowed again, studying her, trying to figure her as she figured him.

“You own a salvage yard, I see,” Hal said, gesturing to the wide expanse behind the office.

“True enough,” Mr. Tomkins conceded, though the effort cost him. He was clearly in a desperate bid to maintain the upper hand. Sadie had complete faith in Hal, however. He had a way of sneaking past people’s defenses.

“You’re going to have to excuse my ignorance,” Hal said. “I’m a city boy, through and through. Why does one own a salvage yard?”

“For scrap,” Mr. Tomkins explained. “Metal isn’t cheap these days. I take in junk cars, appliances, recycling. Basically anything not paper or plastic that people might throw out.”

“And that is worth enough money to merit so much razor wire?” Hal said.

“A few years back, someone stole some catalytic converters I’d been saving. Fifty thousand dollars of platinum, gone in an instant. That’s when I installed the razor wire.”

Hal whistled, duly impressed by the sum. Mr. Tomkins nodded, relaxing a little now that Hal was on his side. “Tell me about Fiona’s pumpkins,” Hal said. Mr. Tomkins tensed again, shifting.

“I had nothing to do with that.”

Hal put up his hands in supplication. “No one is saying you did. But you must have some theory. I mean, not only are you her closest neighbor and ex-husband, but you’re a smart, world-wise man. What do you think happened?”

“I think she over watered and the stem split, same as I told her.”

“What about the footprints? What about the disabled wildlife camera?” Hal asked.

“I wouldn’t have no idea about none of that. Fiona’s a bit emotional.”

“She seems perfectly rational to me,” Hal said.

“That’s ‘cause you wasn’t married to her. Believe me, she’s jealous, and she has a real suspicious mind. She accused me of cheating and tossed me out when I did no such thing. Now she’s accusing me of pumpkin tampering. I think it’s all a bid to get attention. She wants me back.” He puffed up like a peacock, no easy task for such a tiny person. He must barely clear the five foot barrier. His face was covered with scruffy white whiskers, much more hair than he had on his bald pate. He was at that age where his eyes were beginning to look a bit watery, and his nose was red and inflamed. Clearly any woman’s dream, although Sadie had learned that there was no accounting for taste. And Fiona did seem to have some lingering feelings for him, impossible as it was for her to imagine.

“Fiona seems fine to me,” she couldn’t stop herself from interjecting. “She’s such a happy, well-settled sort of person. Content and self-contained.”

Mr. Tomkins scowled at her. “That’s ‘cause you don’t know her like I do. She misses me; she’s just too stubborn to admit it.”

Sadie didn’t comment, both because she didn’t want to anger him and because she agreed. Fiona did seem to miss her ex-husband. Enough to make up a story and hire investigators in a plot to win him back? That seemed far-fetched, even for the lovelorn.

“Can we see it?” Hal asked, gesturing again to the salvage yard. Sadie wasn’t sure what the question had to do with pumpkins. Maybe Hal was nosy. Scratch that, Hal was definitely nosy. He had probably never seen a salvage yard before and simply wanted to assuage his curiosity.

“No,” Mr. Tomkins said. Behind him, Bo shifted imperceptibly, catching Sadie’s attention again. Why was he so familiar? She couldn’t place him, and it was driving her crazy.

“Do I know you?” she blurted.

“No,” he said with a heavy twang.

The exchange drew Hal’s attention and now he was staring at Bo, sizing him up. “What’s your story, Bo?” Hal asked. Bo shrugged. “No, don’t tell me—I’ve got this. You were rejected by Julliard—ballet, of course. Broken hearted, you returned home to follow up on your second dream of being the town scrap dealer’s right hand man.”

Mr. Tomkins looked between a still-silent Bo and Hal. “What are you yammering about?”

“It’s not yammering,” Hal said. “It’s called deduction. It’s what we in the investigative business do. The moment I saw Bo’s combat boots, I knew he was a dancer.” Mr. Tomkins looked annoyed, but Bo’s expression didn’t change. He was a cool one, Sadie thought. Something was off about him, and she didn’t trust him. Instinctively she knew that Bo was capable of much more than pumpkin tampering. It would be wise to keep an eye on him for the duration of their stay.

“So, about that scrap yard. When can we see it?” Hal asked.

“The fifth day of never,” Mr. Tomkins said.

“What’s the big secret? I simply want to take a look around and check for a pumpkin trail. If my pumpkin juice scanner comes up negative, then you’re off the hook.” He paused and turned abruptly to Sadie. “We did bring the pumpkin juice scanner, didn’t we?”

“It’s in the shop,” Sadie said. It was strange to play second fiddle for once. Luke was usually the straight man while she took center stage. Staying behind the curtain didn’t come naturally.

“All right. I guess we’ll do it the old fashioned way. I’ll take some soil samples, send them to the lab, and check for pumpkin DNA,” Hal said. He headed for the back door and the scrap yard. Bo moved in an instant, blocking the path with his body. “I could get a warrant,” Hal said.

“For what?” Mr. Tomkins said. “We didn’t do nothing.” A more appropriate response would have been to ask Hal how he planned to get a warrant when he wasn’t a police officer. Mr. Tomkins seemed to be buying Hal’s bluff. Sadie wondered how long that would work.

“Tampering with evidence, interfering in an investigation, obstructing justice,” Hal ticked off on his fingers all the legal terms he could think of.

Mr. Tomkins stood. Sadie wondered if he preferred to remain seated most of the time because it disguised his height. Now he was the smallest person in the room by far. “I didn’t do nothing wrong. I didn’t mess with Fiona’s pumpkins. She’s jealous because my own ladies are going to take first this year, and she knows it. She’s never produced a winner, and this year will be no different. You can tell her I said so, and you can do it now. Get off my property, and don’t come back.” He was vibrating with rage, but his tiny stature kept him from being formidable. Bo filled in the gap, shifting slightly and crossing his arms over his chest to let them know that he was there to make sure they complied with orders.

Hal put up his hands in surrender, on the charm offensive again. “I think there’s been some misunderstanding. I haven’t accused you of anything, and just because I’ve taken Fiona’s money doesn’t mean I’ve taken her side. I’m impartial; I merely want to find the truth. I’m sure you do, too. If someone was touching my wife’s pumpkins, I’d want to know about it.”

Mr. Tomkins frowned, searching hard for the double entendre. He scratched his head, squinting. “She’s my ex-wife.”

“Is she? Is she, really?” Hal said. Then, not waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of the room. After realizing he had no intention of coming back, Sadie hurriedly scurried behind him.

“What was that?” she asked after she caught up to him at the car.

“Commercial break,” Hal said. “Sherlock always says something quippy or dramatic before they go to commercial. I was out of quippy, so I went for dramatic. Too much?”

“You’re asking me if there’s too much drama? I once replaced a rival’s face wash with poison ivy oil during the middle of pageant week.”

“Sadie!”

“What? She cut the strap on my bikini first,” Sadie said. “I was one catwalk away from a wardrobe malfunction of epic proportions. I could have been the Janet Jackson of our generation.”

“I thought Janet Jackson was from our generation,” he said.

“I think she’s from every generation. How old is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but I’m fairly certain that if we don’t leave now, another shotgun to the temple is in our immediate future,” Hal said. They got in the car. He drove this time since they were undoubtedly being watched and he needed to keep up the illusion of authority.

“What did you think?” Sadie asked after they were safely on their way.

“The same as I thought before. Tom Tomkins tinkered, totally toyed. He t…I’m out of t-words. Alliteration is harder than it looks. Definitely not something for the sleep deprived. Why couldn’t his name have been Peter Peterson? Can you imagine the fun we could have with Peter Peterson and pumpkins?”

“Bo bugs me,” Sadie said.

“Why?”

“There’s something more to his story. Call it a gut feeling.”

“I trust your gut completely,” Hal said. They arrived back at Fiona’s house.

“Is it ridiculous that we’re devoting this much time and mental energy to pumpkins?” Sadie asked.

“To us, yes. To Fiona, no. I think the pumpkins are symbolic. I think they represent her trust in her ex-husband. If she can’t trust him with her pumpkins, then she can’t trust him with anything. Call me an idealist, but I think she wants him to be innocent. I think she’s half hoping we’ll miraculously prove that he had nothing to do with Marge’s stem-cutting murder.”

“Do you think Mr. Tomkins is right? Do you think she made it all up?”

“I don’t know,” Hal said. A car pulled up behind them and parked. They braced themselves, waiting for more guns. Instead a bleach-blond woman in a tank top knocked on Hal’s window, her ample bosom on proud display.

“What is in the water here?” he asked. “And how can we sell it to the rest of the world?” He rolled down the window.

“Can I talk to you?” the woman asked. She had the husky voice of a longtime smoker.

“Sure,” Hal said. “Let’s go inside.” The night was turning chilly, but not enough to keep the mosquitos at bay. The woman followed them inside and said hello to Fiona who sat in her chair sewing something in an embroidery hoop. Fiona appeared to know the woman. She made no move to leave her spot, but the woman didn’t seem to mind as she took a seat and turned pleadingly to Hal.

“I’m Hal,” Hal said, extending his hand to the blond.

“I’m Shirley,” she said, shaking his hand. “I need your help. I want to hire you to find my grandson.”

“Your grandson?” Hal echoed. Shirley didn’t look much older than them; Sadie would be surprised if she was out of her fifties.

“My grandson, Johnny. He left home a few years ago to find work. He found a good job, a real fancy one that he was proud of. Then a few months ago, he came home. He wouldn’t say a word about why, just that he didn’t have to work no more and we were set for life. Last week he went missing. It’s not like him not to at least call and let me know he’s okay. He knows how I worry. I’m afraid something bad happened to him. He’s a good kid, but he always hangs with the wrong crowd. Here’s his picture.” She pulled out a picture and handed it to Hal. Sadie peered over his shoulder. The “kid” looked to be about their age, mid-twenties. He was unshaved, wearing a baseball hat, and his eyes were slightly glazed, as if the picture had been snapped mid-bender. Sadie had her suspicions that Johnny had a drug or alcohol problem, in which case he could be anywhere, doing anything.

“Have you gone to the police?” Hal asked the obvious question.

“Of course I have, but you know how it is. They say he’s an adult and has gone away on his own. And no one cares about us here on the mountain. They’re busy with bigger cities. Johnny used to get into trouble when he was a kid, and he sort of got a reputation as a trouble maker. He went away to get away from all that, and he did a real good job of getting his life together. Now he’s gone again, and I know something is wrong. Grandmothers have a feeling about these things.” Her hands shook a cigarette from her purse, but she dared not light it in Fiona’s immaculate house. Instead she rolled it between her fingers as if the scent and feel of tobacco soothed her.

“I’m here at Fiona’s request,” Hal said. “I don’t feel right looking into your case while I’m working on hers.”

Shirley turned her attention to Fiona. “Please, Fiona? Can’t he look into your pumpkin thing and check on Johnny at the same time?”

Fiona shrugged, but her lips tightened slightly. “That’s his business.” She glanced at Sadie. The look was loaded with a meaning Sadie couldn’t interpret.

“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” Hal said. He stood and walked Shirley outside. Sadie waited until he drove away to speak.

“What was that about, Fiona?” Sadie asked.

Fiona set aside her needlework with a sigh. “Shirley Jones got pregnant when she was fifteen. She was about as good a teenage mother as you would expect, always dumping her daughter off to go drinking or partying. When her daughter got pregnant at fifteen, it wasn’t much of a surprise. What was a surprise was the way Shirley suddenly turned her life around. She gave up partying and drinking and tried her best to raise Johnny as a mother should. In fact she tried too hard, always coddling him, spoiling him, covering for him instead of making things right. Johnny was a bad egg from the start and got worse as time went on. Shirley loves him to a fault and can’t see it.” She sighed again, frowning as she stared into space. Sadie thought there was more to the story than she was saying. Fiona was a woman of few words; information needed to be coaxed and drawn from her.

“What do you think happened to him? Why do you think he disappeared?”

“A few years ago, someone stole some catalytic converters from the salvage yard,” Fiona said.

“Yes, your ex told us,” Hal said.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “It’s the one great tragedy of his life. He’s been paranoid and angry ever since. Anyway, everyone knew it was Johnny, but no one could prove it. Shirley’s right; no one cares about us up here. That’s why we formed our own law enforcement.”

“So the stories about a posse are true,” Sadie said.

“Unfortunately, and they’re about as brainless and uncouth as you’d expect a mob of armed vigilantes to be. When no one could prove legally that Johnny stole the parts, the posse decided to take matters into their own hands. That’s why he left town.”