To Sketch a Thief (10 page)

Chapter 12

W
hen Rory turned onto her block she found a van with the Atlas Oil name and logo parked at the curb in front of her house. The serviceman was hours early. It was a good thing she’d come home when she did, or he might have gone on to the next customer and left her to shiver through another night without heat. At the very least, he should have called to find out if she’d be home. As soon as she pulled into the driveway the man emerged from his van and picked up a toolbox and bucket he’d left sitting outside the van’s door. He had on charcoal gray coveralls that were a good match for any soot, grease and oil he worked around. Clever of the company. That way their representatives always looked clean and presentable, even at the end of a long shift mucking around in peoples’ basements.

Rory stepped out of her car as he was coming abreast of it. “Hi. I hope you weren’t waiting too long. Is it Joe?” she asked, reading the name sown on his pocket.

“Sure is,” he said. He glanced down at the equipment he was holding, as if trying to decide if he should put something down so that he could shake her hand. But the moment passed before he could make up his mind.

“We must have gotten our signals crossed,” she said. “I was under the impression you’d be here at three.”

“Yeah, some of the emergencies before you turned out to be simple fixes.”

“You’re so early I could easily have missed you,” she said more pointedly as she led the way up to the front door.

“I tried to reach you,” Joe said affably. “Left a message on your house phone, then on your cell.”

Rory was about to tell him that wasn’t possible, since her cell phone hadn’t rung, when she realized that she’d changed it from ring to vibrate before her meeting with Deirdre Lopez and never switched it back. She shouldn’t have been so quick to indict him.

“I guess it was a case of bad timing,” she said in a more cheerful, “these things happen” tone of voice. “I was in town hall on business and I had to turn the ringer off on my cell. I’m really grateful that you were kind enough to wait for me.”

“Not a problem,” Joe assured her. “Gave me time to catch up on my paperwork.”

Rory was glad he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, but before she could step inside, she was knocked off her feet by ninety pounds of fur and love barreling full tilt into her. Joe’s broad chest saved her from crashing to the porch floor. She fell backward against him, throwing him off balance in the process. Although he wasn’t prepared for the sudden onslaught, after a moment of teetering uncertainty, he managed to stay upright, saving them both from landing in a heap.

Hobo was joyful and unrepentant, bouncing around them as if he had pogo sticks for legs, lapping at whatever parts of them he could reach. Between stern but ineffective commands to sit and stay, Rory apologized to Joe for the dog’s behavior. She explained that she’d recently rescued him, which was true as far as it went. She didn’t bother to add that the dog was having a hard time acclimating because of the ghost in her house. Even though the cold had probably kept Zeke from making an actual appearance while she was gone this time, Hobo seemed able to sense him in the ether. For Hobo, every time Rory returned home it was as if she were once again rescuing him.

Joe was taking the dog’s assault in stride, laughing and giving him a good rubdown. “Hobo and I are old friends,” he said, shooing him back into the house.

Rory followed them inside, completely baffled.

“Soon as I saw the address and the name McCain on the work order I knew it had to be you,” he said.

That bit of information didn’t help Rory’s confusion any. “We’ve met?”

“Not directly.” Joe grinned. “But I knew Mac. Your uncle, right?”

“Yes, but I still . . .” Her voice trailed off as she tried to put the pieces together. Even if she’d forgotten that she knew him, which wasn’t likely, it didn’t explain how he knew Hobo.

“Okay.” He laughed. “I won’t keep you in the dark. We’ve never actually met, so your memory isn’t failing you. But Hobo and I have known each other ever since Brenda got him.”

While that didn’t answer all of her questions, it definitely narrowed the field. Joe had known Brenda and Mac. That was fine as far as it went, but there was still some missing connection.

“My last name’s Kovack.”

It was Rory’s turn to laugh. She never would have figured him for Tina’s husband. Not that they were a particularly strange pairing. Joe was about Tina’s height, though she might have had an inch or two on him. He had dark blond hair, receding at the temples like the sea at low tide, and a face that was ordinary except for wide, blue-green eyes with thick lashes that had probably wowed all the girls back in high school.

“I guess since Tina was so involved with dogs, I assumed that her husband worked in the family business too,” Rory explained, hoping that he wouldn’t take her laughter the wrong way.

Luckily Joe didn’t seem to offend easily. “Hey”—he shrugged—“if we were together twenty-four/seven what would we talk about over dinner? Now, you oughta make yourself a cup of something hot, while I see about getting this place toasty warm for you.”

Forty minutes later Joe came back up the stairs. “I’ve got her chugging along fine now,” he said, “just needed a good cleaning and a little sweet talk.” He gave her a good-natured wink that didn’t hold a hint of flirtation.

Rory offered him coffee from the pot she’d brewed.

“Smells great, but I gotta get a move on,” he said. “I’m real glad I got the chance to meet you, though. Tina’s been so down in the dumps since the dogs were stolen and now with Brenda being killed—well, I’ve never seen her like this in all the years I’ve known her. Anyhow I gotta tell you, from the moment you agreed to take the case, she’s been calmer. More like my old Tina girl, and you’ve got my thanks for that.”

“I’ll do my best,” Rory assured him, thinking that she would have preferred not knowing that in addition to finding the dogs, she was also responsible for the state of Tina’s mental health. No pressure there.

She walked outside with him to check the mailbox. Hobo waited anxiously behind the screen door. He’d already learned that when she left the main door open, she wasn’t actually leaving. Still he watched her like a hawk sizing up a rabbit, ready to complain if she dared to deviate from her routine.

Rory waved good-bye to Joe, scooped the day’s mail out of the box and headed back inside. She was glancing through the envelopes on her way into the kitchen when the pendant lights over the table flickered and Zeke appeared. He was leaning against the counter, looking well rested and enormously pleased to be there.

“Thanks for tendin’ to the heat,” he said.

Rory sat down at the table, frowning at one of the envelopes. “You’re welcome, but I didn’t actually do it for you,” she said distractedly.

“Now, why’d you want to go and shatter my illusions like that?” Zeke hung his head with a bereft sigh. “That’s a hard heart you’ve got there, Aurora.”

Rory clenched her teeth and managed not to react, which wasn’t all that difficult since she was focused on the handwritten address that was shaky and distorted as if a three-year-old had penned it. She tore the envelope open and unfolded the piece of paper she found inside.

“How’s the mutt holding up?” Zeke asked, noting that Hobo was once again snoring under the table.

“What the hell is this?” she muttered, oblivious to the marshal’s question.

He was at her side in an instant, peering over her shoulder at the paper. It was a crazy quilt of letters cut from newspapers and magazines and pieced together to form the words:

Stop the investigation or we’ll stop you.

It was the type of threat or ransom note that had been used in so many movies over the past fifty years that it was trite, even laughable, but neither Rory nor Zeke was laughing.

“That came in today’s mail?” Zeke asked, popping into the chair next to her.

“I got it today,” she said, picking up the envelope that she’d dropped onto the table, “but I don’t think it actually
came
through the mail.” She studied the plain white envelope front and back again. “There’s no canceled stamp. Someone must have driven by and stuck it in my mailbox.”

Damn, she wished she’d noticed that sooner, but she’d had no reason to expect such a letter. Now she’d compromised potential evidence. She pushed back from the table and went to the cabinet where she kept rolls of tin foil, plastic wrap and storage bags. She took one of the bags, placed the letter and envelope inside and sealed it shut. With any luck Reggie, CSI extraordinare and old college chum of BB’s, would once again be willing to help her out.

“You’ll be takin’ that over to the police, then?” Zeke asked cautiously, as if he were lifting a rock to see what was hiding beneath it.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And exactly in what manner would that be?”

“I’m going to give it to Forensics.”

“In other words ‘on the sly’—so Leah doesn’t find out.”

“If I told Leah she’d feel obligated to report it and that could mean the end of my case,” Rory said with the defiant lift of her chin that meant there was no room for negotiation.

“You’ve been threatened—you don’t think the police should know?” It was clear he didn’t intend to let it go.

“Up until a few months ago I
was
the police, in case you’ve forgotten, and I know how to take care of myself,” she said, clipping her words off with a steel-edged tone that she instantly regretted. What had happened to the grand compassion and empathy she’d felt for him at his gravesite this morning? It seemed like years since then. First Joe had been waiting for her, and then she’d found the letter. Hardly a moment to catch her breath. She made herself stop and take a long, unbiased look at Zeke, and instead of seeing him only as an obstacle blocking her way, she saw the concern etched in the tight line of his jaw and in the lines around his eyes and the furrow between his brows.

“Believe me, I know what I’m doing,” she said softly, shrugging off the attitude.

“I’m sure you think you do.”

“I’ll take Hobo with me as protection wherever I go.” She smiled, determined to steer the conversation onto a less rocky path.

Zeke’s face remained grim. He wasn’t going to be wheedled into a better mood.

“So, based on the letter, I guess you could say we’ve rocked the thief’s boat.” Maybe if she got him thinking about the case, he’d let go of his obsession with her safety.

“That’d be helpful if it meant the thief has to be one of the few people you’ve already talked to, but all it likely means is that word about our investigation is spreading through the dog community like wildfire. It could have been sent by just about anyone who knows Tina hired you, then there’s the vet and the people who work for him, the rest of the dog community and anyone they’ve talked to.”

Rory could tell from the monotone quality of his voice that he was answering her by rote, his mind still hooked into their argument.

“Then we might as well add the town clerk and everyone she tells,” Rory said, taking a minute to update him on her meeting with Deirdre Lopez.

“Well, when you can’t see the forest for the trees, you gotta start by choppin’ down some of those trees. And you can begin right off with that repairman, Joe.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“The man was sittin’ out there right by your mailbox and he knew you wouldn’t be home for a spell. He could have slipped that envelope right in there without fear of bein’ seen.”

Rory shook her head in disbelief. “You’re actually telling me you think Joe stole two of his own dogs?”

“His wife’s dogs.”

Rory rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, that makes a whole lot more sense.”

“Don’t you go bein’ naïve, darlin’. Folks are capable of some crazy things.”

Naïve? He would never have been so condescending to Mac or dared to insult him that way. “I guess you’d know about crazy,” she snapped. Her temper was hurtling headlong toward the edge of the cliff with all of her good intentions strapped to its back and she’d willingly let go of the reins.

Zeke looked genuinely surprised by her sharp response. “Why are you gettin’ yourself all in a dither?”

That did it. “Listen,” she said, rising from the table, “I am
not
naïve and I
don’t
get into dithers, whatever the hell they are.”

“That would be one right there,” he pointed out.

Rory stormed out of the room before she said something she couldn’t take back. Death may have conferred an aura of saintliness on Zeke, but as far as she could see, it was one that stopped at the edge of his grave and had no bearing on the reality of living with him.

Chapter 13

R
ory spent a restless night punctuated by dreams in which she searched endlessly for Hobo and a few thousand of his canine chums. Although the dreams had been unnerving in the dark landscape of her mind, daylight quickly revealed them for the silly mental antics they were. Even before she opened her eyes she felt the warm pressure of Hobo’s back against her own, safe and sound, his legs twitching as he chased some bugaboo of his own.

The room was delightfully warm and inviting compared to the previous day, so Rory didn’t have to talk herself into leaving the bed behind. She had a lot to do, and she was eager to get started. Before falling asleep, she’d decided she wanted to find some DNA belonging to Joe Kovack. And not because Zeke had made her doubt her instincts about the man. She was looking forward to proving Zeke wrong for once, to throwing that all knowing, superior attitude of his for a loop or two. But first she was going to have to come up with a believable excuse to visit the Kovack home, since she didn’t have any real progress to report on the investigation.

She was brushing her teeth when it came to her. Aunt Helene would have a sudden interest in buying a Maltese, and Rory, being the devoted niece that she was, would take her to meet Tina and see her dogs.

Helene was more than happy to oblige, even though it meant rescheduling a yoga session. Rory collected her at eleven o’clock, after reassuring her that she didn’t need time to research and prep for her part. Helene hopped into the car, aglow with the excitement of her new assignment. She’d dressed in what she considered dog aficionado chic: chinos, a Ralph Lauren polo and ankle boots. Her hair was pulled back into a French twist, from which numerous strands were making their escape.

“I didn’t tell your mom and dad that you asked me to help you,” Helene whispered, even though Rory was the only one in the car. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or anything.”

“It’s not a secret,” Rory said. “And I doubt they’d be insulted. In fact, I think my dad would be thrilled to know that he was left out this time.”

Satisfied that she’d done her duty with regard to family unity, Helene spent the rest of the trip chattering away about dogs in general and about the specific questions she’d thought up to buy Rory the time she needed.

Tina was waiting to show Rory and her potential new customer around. She, Joe and their two adolescent boys lived in a sprawling yellow ranch house with gleaming white shutters and trim, surrounded by a white picket fence, all in vinyl. Like Mac, Rory had always preferred the look of wood, but now that she was the home owner, she had to admit there was something to be said for no paint, easy maintenance. Obviously the Kovacks had come to the same conclusion. Keeping up appearances was important when you were trying to entice people to buy expensive dogs from you.

There was a green sign with gold letters posted at the entrance to their driveway that read “Kovack Farms,” and in smaller lettering, “Breeders of Prize-Winning Maltese.” Rory wondered how many prizes your dogs had to win in order to make such a claim and whether it was considered false advertising if you embellished on the truth.

Tina greeted them at the front door and introduced them to the three well-mannered Maltese who shared the house with the family. Rory and Helene knelt down to pet them a brief hello. Then Tina led the women through the beautifully appointed house into a gourmet kitchen with highend finishes on every surface and appliances that would have dazzled any chef. As they walked, Tina babbled on about whatever popped into her mind, barely taking time to breathe. Rory wondered how Joe could stand it. Maybe it became a form of white noise that he was able to ignore. Like her father and a lot of other men he’d probably even perfected the benign “smile and nod” technique that made his wife think he was listening.

The kitchen opened into a large family room with custom bookcases built around a media center that showcased a seventy-inch flat-screen TV.

“What a beautiful room,” Rory remarked, thinking that she might like to decorate her living room this way when she could afford it.

“And look at that TV,” Helene gasped. “It’s practically the size of a movie theater screen.”

“I surprised Joe with it on his last birthday.” Tina smiled. “You should have seen his face. You could have knocked him over with a feather, as my mother used to say.”

“Lucky guy,” Helene said, sounding sincerely as if she wished she had a Tina in her life.

“Believe me,” Tina replied, “I’m just as lucky. He’s a great husband.”

Tina ushered them through French doors out to a large backyard that was shaded by a canopy of old maples. The kennels were inside a yellow and white mini version of the main house, heated, air-conditioned and populated by another nine Maltese. She pointed out one of the dogs who was basking in the sun. “That’s Clementine—she’ll be whelping any day now.”

Having heard her name, Clementine raised her head to check out the visitors. She offered them a cheerful little wag of her tail, but didn’t bother to get up when the other dogs went running to greet the women.

“She’s carrying five pups, but only three of them are spoken for,” Tina said, “so if you decide you’d like one, Helene . . .”

“How exciting!” Helene exclaimed, sounding like a kid on Christmas morning.

Rory hoped her aunt hadn’t forgotten the real reason they were there. In any case, it was definitely time to make her play. She asked Tina if she could use the bathroom.

“Sure, just go in the back door and make a right through the kitchen and you’ll see it.”

Helene shifted into second gear on cue. “Do you think I could possibly go into the kennel to play with the dogs?” she asked as Rory walked away.

“We actually have an area set up for that exact purpose,” Tina said.

Rory made her way back across the lawn to the house. She found the powder room to be small and tidy and completely devoid of any personal effects belonging to the family, which was what she’d expected. After a cursory look around, she went in search of the master suite. She checked her watch so that she didn’t stay inside too long and arouse Tina’s suspicions. She was feeling guilty enough about sneaking around behind her client’s back. In fact, the only way she’d been able to broker a truce with her conscience was by putting the focus on proving Joe’s innocence. Still, the police detective in her was setting off alarms as she made her way into the master bedroom.

She stopped short at the door to the master bath. Was she really going to do this? Damn, what a lousy time to have cold feet. No, she hadn’t come this far to give up now. Besides, Zeke deserved his little comeuppance, and it would go a long way to elevating her in his esteem. Before she could debate it any further, she marched across the threshold into the bathroom. She found Joe’s brush in one of the drawers of the vanity along with his shaving cream and razors. She pulled several hairs out of the brush and placed them in the small plastic bag she’d brought in her handbag for that purpose. She was on her way back to the kennels in less than five minutes, start to finish.

Tina and Helene were inside a large grassy area that was fenced off beyond the kennels. Helene was sitting on the ground with six white balls of fluff climbing all over her, jockeying for her attention. “Aren’t they the cutest things you’ve ever seen?” she asked, beaming up at Rory.

“You’re a real natural with them,” Tina said. “Believe me, they don’t act this way with everyone. You just let me know if you want one of the new pups.”

Helene’s smile broadened as she gently extricated herself from her little mob of fans.

“I’d better put a deposit on one now,” she said, already rummaging in her purse for her checkbook.

Rory jumped in before Tina could close the deal. “I think you need to give this some more thought, Aunt Helene. You know how you’re always running somewhere or other, and don’t forget you just started rehearsals for the next play. You’ll need to line up someone to doggie-sit.”

Unexpectedly Tina took up Rory’s cause. “Your niece is right, these are companion dogs. They don’t like spending a lot of time alone.”

Helene seemed to be the only one on an entirely different page. Nothing new there. “I’ll ask your mom to help out,” she said to Rory, undeterred.

“Listen, why don’t you let me know?” Tina said. “I’ll hold one back until I hear from you.”

Before Helene could dig herself any deeper into a commitment, Rory thanked Tina, said she’d get back to her soon with an update on the case and hurried her aunt off to the car. By the time she’d dropped Helene at home, she was reasonably certain that she’d talked her out of buying the dog. To seal the deal she told Helene she could visit Hobo whenever she wanted. In the process she wound up inviting her to dinner so she could meet him. Helene was cheered by the prospect. After all, Hobo wasn’t just any dog. Since Rory had adopted him, he was her great-nephew. Family had always held a lot of sway with Helene.

Rory left her with a promise to call and set a date once she knew when her parents would also be free. Unfortunately she was going to have to beg for Zeke’s cooperation, which meant mending some fences she wasn’t particularly eager to mend at the moment. She’d deal with all that later, though. Right now she was running late for her meeting with BB.

Barrett Browning III, medical examiner for Suffolk County, had been happy to hear from her, and happier still when she suggested they meet at the Starbucks near his office in Hauppauge. Apparently they made a buttermilk scone there that compared favorably with the ones he’d sampled in England.

Rory arrived with two minutes to spare and found BB ensconced in one of two easy chairs that had a diminutive table wedged between them. He was sipping a chai latte, which he proclaimed the perfect accompaniment to the scone that sat untouched on its napkin while he’d waited for her. As the son of a socially prominent family, he had the manners of a gentleman, if not always the refined tastes of one. And he’d be the first to admit that he was more of a gourmand than a gourmet, a fact easily verified by his substantial girth.

He insisted that Rory have a seat while he took care of placing her order. He hoisted himself out of his chair with some difficulty, disappointed that all she wanted was a simple cup of coffee. He took it upon himself to buy her a scone to taste anyway and refused to let her pay even when she protested that she’d invited him.

“Not at all, dear girl, I won’t hear of it, not another word,” he said, placing the coffee and scone in front of her and reclaiming his seat. “Now, how can I be of service?”

Rory explained the case to him, remarking about how difficult it was to narrow the spectrum of potential suspects. In the process she couldn’t resist adding a quick mention of Hobo, who seemed to be ever present in her thoughts.

“Sounds a lot like the dog I had as a boy,” BB said with a nostalgic smile. “Great big, hairy thing, also of indeterminate lineage. My parents had planned to buy a pedigreed something or other, I forget what, with papers and a family tree as impressive as theirs. But I wanted a dog no one else wanted.” He paused for a moment’s reflection. “I guess I was looking for a dog like me.” His eyebrows arched with surprise at this sudden epiphany. “Of course I’m not referring to my relationship with my family,” he hurried to explain. “They were more doting than any child could want or deserve. But I was the odd one in school—you know, good grades, but two left feet on the soccer field?”

Rory just smiled and nodded. She didn’t feel she knew BB well enough to comment one way or the other on such an intimate disclosure.

Then BB’s face split into an impish grin that puffed out his cheeks like a chipmunk gorging on acorns. “Sorry to go all maudlin there on you. Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I think you were about to tell me in what particular way I could help.” He broke off a piece of his scone and tucked it into his mouth with a deep sigh of pleasure.

Rory was glad to leave the psychoanalysis behind. “Actually this is probably more up Reggie’s alley than yours,” she said, pulling the two plastic bags out of her purse and explaining what she needed done. “Of course if he doesn’t want to get involved again, please let him know I understand.”

“
C’est compris
, not to worry,
no hay problema
,” BB assured her. “Reggie is always game for projects that are, shall we say, tangential to his job description.”

“
I
’ve been meanin’ to talk to you about that gun of yours,” Zeke said a moment after he materialized near the fireplace.

Rory had been sitting on the couch reading the newspaper while Hobo snored away at her feet. She immediately put her finger to her lips in hopes of quieting the marshal. With any luck they might be able to hold a conversation without waking the dog and starting another round of “save me from the ghost.” Of course she had no way of knowing if Zeke was in a cooperative mood or actually looking to cause some chaos.

“The Walther?” she whispered, hoping for the former.

Zeke took a seat in the closer of the two armchairs before replying. “It’s not enough firepower,” he said in a lower voice. “You should be carryin’ a .45 or a .357. That way when you shoot a guy he goes down and stays down. The Walther is just goin’ to irritate him.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I turned in my service pistol. I just haven’t gotten around to buying one yet.”

Zeke had opened his mouth ready to launch into a full-out rebuttal as he always did when she disagreed with him.

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” she asked sweetly.

“I swear sometimes you stay awake nights thinkin’ up new ways to confound me.”

Rory laughed. “It really doesn’t require that much effort.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them.

“Oh, you mean sorta like this?” Zeke’s mouth tugged up in a mischievous grin. “Hobo,” he called.

The dog’s eyes popped open, still bleary with sleep, and Rory groaned.

Zeke vanished from the chair and popped up inches from the dog’s nose with a playful “Boo.”