Mind-Bending Murder Page 9

  "Right!" I agreed. "I'll head to the van and lie down. You don't need me, do you?"

  "Bear and I can talk to the police," Riley said.

  I practically ran to the minivan, started it up, and drove down an alley behind the tattoo shop until I came to a nearly full parking lot at The Dew Drop Inn.

  Sirens wailed, getting closer as people spilled out of the bar and into the street. I texted Ivan to ask what the hell happened. He sent me a fart emoji. I think it was a mistake.

  I took a deep breath as anger washed over me. How could Ron start a fight like that? I knew he was a little hotheaded. But this was my idea, so it was really my fault. And we were just about to get something out of Bear about Mordecai Brown. What kind of skeletons was the owner of the Pump & Pawn hiding? Maybe he even had something on Buddy Malone.

  I punched the steering wheel. Dammit! We could've gotten something on the guy who's so perfect that you can't say anything bad about him!

  "Why you punch steering wheel?" Ivan said as he opened the door to the passenger seat. "What did steering wheel do to you?"

  "Get in!" I said quickly. "Why aren't you out there? What happened?"

  Ivan frowned and looked toward the street. "Riley said to go find you. Ron asked about tattoo of goat wearing Chechen flag like cape. The boy said he didn't do that for made up countries. Ron threw him through window. That is not professional."

  At least one of them wanted to do a good job.

  "You've got that right. I don't think Riley will hire him after that. I told you guys not to hurt anyone."

  Ivan shook his head. "No, I mean you do not destroy property when beating someone. That crosses the line."

  "I have to stay in the van. If the cops see me, they'll find out I was involved, and it will make me look guilty of the murder."

  Ivan nodded. "I will go and look."

  I grabbed his arm. "Wait. You can't get close. Riley sent you away so that he could control things. We are still flying under the radar here."

  "Okay." Ivan got out, shut the door, and disappeared around the building.

  I was about to throw a tantrum when my cell rang. It was a FaceTime call from Ivan. He was showing me what was happening without getting too close. I stared at my phone. The two cops who had arrested me were talking to Riley and the victim. A third officer was cuffing Ron. He was a short, dumpy, middle-aged man. Kind of old for a cop. In fact, he looked ridiculous next to the tall, overly muscled goon.

  Was this Bryce Vanderzee? The chief who hated me for absolutely no reason?

  Riley noticed Ron in cuffs and went over to the officer. He talked to him, and the other man began to soften. Riley could charm the panties off of a warthog. It was a talent that had gotten him in trouble more than once, including with me during the extremely short time we'd dated while still working together.

  I watched in amazement as the officer took off the cuffs and handed Ron over to Riley. They began to walk toward the camera, probably seeing Ivan. Within a few seconds we were all in the van, driving across town to a grocery store lot.

  "What the hell, Ron?" I shouted as I parked. "That wasn't discreet! Riley and I had to end our investigation just as we were getting information."

  "You heard what you wanted to hear?" he asked.

  "No. We almost did. Until you threw a guy half your size through a window!"

  "It's okay, Merry," Riley soothed.

  "How can that be okay? He almost got arrested! And then they would've found out he's Chechen, and that he's now related to me!"

  "But they didn't arrest him," Riley said. "I talked them out of it."

  "I just can't believe that worked."

  "Well, that and the kid didn't want to press charges."

  "What did you say?" Then I shook my head. "Never mind. It's more important that we yell at Ron for messing up."

  "I did not mess up," Ron said calmly.

  "You did," Ivan chastised. "You threw man through window. You know we do not damage property. It was core value of our work."

  "But I did right thing," Ron insisted.

  "I have told you," I breathed. "That you can't do things like that here. You weren't supposed to beat him up. You were supposed to question him."

  "But…"

  I cut him off. "But nothing. You had a chance, and you blew it."

  "But…"

  "And now," I continued, "Riley will never hire you."

  Riley shook his head. "Oh, I'm totally keeping them on."

  "What?" My mouth dropped open. "After that display? Why?"

  Riley smiled. "Because he got some good intel. Ron found out something about Tyson Pancratz that we would never in a million years have guessed."

  "And then he threw the guy through a window."

  "He told me to throw him out window," Ron said. "He forgot it was closed."

  That brought me up short. "He told you to do that?"

  "Yes," Riley said. "While we were waiting for the police, the kid confirmed it. I just told the police chief that I'd take Ron home."

  Who does that? Who sees the largest man he's ever seen and says, Hey, would you mind throwing me through that window, please? "I don't get it."

  "The only thing you have to get is that this guy is germane to the case."

  Ron grinned in the rearview mirror. "He knows guy you murdered."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "I thought Kelly said no one knew Tyson," I said once I found my words again.

  "Neil said," Riley replied, "that he didn't want to be connected to this in any way."

  "Why not? Is he a suspect?" That idea was exciting. I hated being the only one accused of murder.

  "That's what we're going to find out later." Riley looked at his watch. "I think the rest of the downtown investigation is a bust for the day. We'll have to come back again. Things are too hot here. And those cops know you."

  "They said that?"

  Riley shook his head. "No, I deduced that. Because they're the entire police force. They're the ones who arrested you."

  "They didn't mind that the guy," I began. "Neil, whatever, didn't want to press charges after being thrown out a window?"

  Riley shrugged. "They said they didn't want to do the paperwork. Relax. We're two steps closer. Bear said something about Mordecai hiding something. And now we know someone who knew Tyson. And Ron and Ivan don't have to pay for the window."

  "That is good news," I grumbled.

  "Because I'm adding it to your bill," Riley said. "Pickle Lips."

  Without looking, I punched him in the face. That may seem extreme, but Ron and Ivan were a bit protective of me. I didn't want them to smack him for it. Okay, I made that up. I just wanted to punch him. I didn't hit him hard. Didn't even break his nose. And I could have.

  We drove back to Who's There, digesting this new information while Ron and Ivan discussed the physics, without using the word physics, needed to hurl such a skinny guy through a window.

  "Ivan." I made eye contact in the rearview mirror. "Was that all the intel you got?"

  "Oh no. Ron did not mention other part. And it's good."

  I almost slammed on the brakes and dragged these guys out of the van. "Why didn't you say so?"

  Ivan looked at me curiously. "You never asked."

  Unfortunately, that was true. "Well, I'm asking now."

  "Neil said he worked the night of the murder," Ivan said.

  Ron brightened. "Oh yes! He said he saw woman and boy-man park in lot and walk behind building."

  I deflated. Great. That was all I needed. Another witness.

  Ivan spoke up. "Neil said the woman was odd, and he did not think it was a woman."

  I perked up. "Really?"

  "Do not get excited. He could have meant you," Ron said. "You are very odd."

  I was? "Odd, how?"

  Ivan cut him off. "She walked like a man. He wondered if man was wearing wig."

  "Yes! Now that's more like it!" I did a little victory dance in my seat.

 
"And I got this!" Ivan pulled up his shirt to show the tattoo of Lance Armstrong with bicycle tires intertwined behind his head. He touched it, and the ink smeared. "Is just drawing on skin for placement. I will get it inked next time." It was pretty good too.

  Bear wasn't going to like that.

  We dropped the men off at Ferguson Taxidermy to explain why Ivan wanted to get a tattoo of a criminal on his stomach.

  "When are we meeting up with Neil? Was it because he saw the T-shirt? Why did he want to be thrown out of a window? Do people know that he knew Tyson?"

  Riley cut me off. "I am meeting him later tonight at The Dew Drop Inn. You aren't in the picture."

  "What? It's my problem!" Not that I had any issue with it becoming his problem. The too-handsome-for-anyone's-good Riley Andrews owed me for several past grievances. But I wanted to be there.

  "And it's my case," he said. "People might recognize you." He pulled a copy of The Bladdersly Beard out of his pocket. It was so thin that it could've qualified more as a newsletter.

  Who's There Native Brutally Murders Bladdersly Man was the headline by Medea Jones. And there was a photo of me eating corn on the cob. Actually, it was me stuffing my face with corn on the cob, butter everywhere. A very unflattering picture. How did she get that? I squinted to see the twins' picnic table in the background. We'd had barbecues there all summer.

  Ronni must have sent it to Medea. I needed to have a talk with those two. But first, I needed to attend that meeting tonight and make sure Riley couldn't see me.

  Which was why, two hours later, I walked into The Dew Drop Inn wearing a brown mullet wig, heavy black-framed glasses, a trucker cap, and overalls. I'd even given myself a bit of a five o'clock shadow. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. It was darker inside than it was outside for some reason.

  The place was packed. And it was almost all men. I congratulated myself on choosing to disguise myself as a man and shoved my way to the back. There were two tables open in an L-shape in a corner. I took the seat that put my back toward the door.

  I don't usually do that. In fact, I never do that. You'll never see a spy sitting with his back to the door because how can you avoid someone coming to kill you if you have your back to them?

  But I didn't want Riley to recognize me. Hopefully Riley would wander to the back of the room to choose a table out of the way, like the one next to me. It made sense since it was quieter here. But if he didn't, this was going to be a long night.

  I couldn't believe he wanted to do this alone. Riley knew that I was good at disguise. I once convinced everyone at a Tupperware party in Katmandu that I was eighty years old. Two seventy-year-old women even helped me to my car. And the Prime Minister's mistress didn't suspect a thing. In fact, neither did his wife.

  "Ya gonna order something or what?" A forty-something waitress with a cloud of red hair stood next to me.

  "Whaddaya got on tap?" I asked in a gruff voice.

  "Regular beer and light beer." She snapped her gum.

  "Regular," I grunted.

  And off she went.

  Riley sat down behind me. How did I know this? Because I had worked with the man and knew what it sounded like when he sat down, brushed his teeth, ate oranges, and killed terrorists. Another reason I got here earlier. He'd know me too. The less movement I made the better.

  "Thanks for meeting me here, Neil," Riley said.

  So Neil was with him already. I risked a sideways glance. Yup. That was him.

  "I don't know, Mr. Andrews." The kid sounded nervous.

  "Riley. Please," my former handler soothed.

  "Okay. What I mean is, I don't want anyone to know that I was friends with Tyson."

  "Here. Four dollars." The waitress slapped down a mug of beer that sloshed and overflowed.

  "Keep it." I handed her a five and waved her off.

  Normally, I liked to over tip. But in small towns, something like that wouldn't go unnoticed. And I was undercover.

  "What do you guys want?" the waitress said to Riley's table.

  "Do you have a wine list?" Riley asked.

  I snorted, covering it up with a cough. Did this place look like it had a wine list? They only had one kind of beer, and they didn't tell you what it was. He was doing a crappy job of blending in.

  "Sure," the waitress said as she walked over to the bar and snagged a stained piece of paper.

  "I'll have the 2018 Pinot Grigio," Riley said. "And you?" I assumed he meant Neil.

  "Light beer. Thanks."

  I nursed my beer. At least it was ice cold. If I'd ordered wine, these people would be onto me. Wearing a disguise isn't just about looking different. Your mannerisms, habits, and the things you'd order in a dive bar had to fit with your persona.

  And my persona of Harvey, a lonely, hard-drinking truck driver who loved puppies and had a heart of gold, drank beer.

  "How long did you know Tyson?"

  Neil said, "Since school. He didn't really make a lot of friends. In fact, it was just me."

  The waitress returned with drinks and then left.

  "I'm sorry for your loss," Riley said.

  "I'm not. Tyson was a first-class dick. Always putting on airs about things like working at Best Bye. He thought he was all that."

  Oh good. If I'm going to be accused of murdering someone, at least the victim was a first-class dick.

  "Tyson thought he was better than you?" Riley asked.

  "He thought he was better than everyone. In fact, I stopped hanging around with him a year ago."

  Riley considered this for a moment. "Is that why you don't want anyone to know you were friends?"

  "No!" Neil said a bit too loudly. "I don't want that killer woman to kill me next!"

  Like I would do that. I wasn't the kind of gal who murdered you and then everyone you knew. That was so tacky.

  "Why do you think Tyson was murdered?" Riley's tone throughout this was soothing and friendly. It was a good tactic that worked 99% of the time. I say that because the 1% was Eunice, five seconds before she set fire to my shoes.

  But Neil didn't answer.

  Riley pressed on, changing the question slightly. "Who do you think had motive to kill him?"

  Neil spoke up. "Oh, lots of people. He was rude, obnoxious, and arrogant."

  To the point where someone would kill him?

  "When you say lots of people hated him, who hated him enough to kill him?"

  There was no answer. Neil was shutting down.

  "The guy who threw you through the window said you saw what happened that night?"

  Neil squeaked like a mouse who just noticed a huge cat in front of him. "I didn't see what happened! It was dark. I just saw two people by the shed around that time. I didn't know that it was them!"

  Ask why he thought it was a man dressed as a woman!

  "The other man said you thought it was a man dressed like a woman." Riley leaned back in his chair, and it creaked.

  "Well, they're liars! 'Cuz I didn't say that!" Neil's voice was tight. He sounded like he was about to snap.

  Riley calmly backtracked. "Can you give me any idea what happened to Tyson?"

  "Some woman killed him," Neil snapped. "Why do you want to know?"

  "I'm looking into this for a client."

  Neil's voice went up several decibels. "Is that woman your client? She should probably go to jail!"

  "She didn't do it," Riley said. I was surprised that he said that.

  A chair screeched across the floor. "She was caught in the act! You're trying to make me look like a suspect!"

  Oh crap. This went downhill quickly.

  "Please, sit down. I'm sorry if I made you think that," Riley soothed.

  "No! I gotta go. Thanks for the beer. I'll just tell the waitress you're buying!"

  Riley's chair slid back, and as they walked away, I saw that he was following Neil out, most likely hoping to patch things up.

  And we didn't even find out why Neil had wanted Ron to throw
him through the window.

  "Hey." Kurt Hobbs slid into the seat across from me and grinned cheerfully. "I'm here to take you in!"

  The young man's face was lit up with a joy most likely inspired by the idea of getting to first base with Kayla.

  "Do I know you?" I asked in my disguise voice.

  "Mrs. Ferguson, your disguise doesn't work with me. Now hold out your hands so that I can cuff you. I've got a friend waiting outside with a camera."

  "I'm not skipping bail," I hissed in my normal voice. "I'm investigating. How did you know it was me?"

  Seriously! Riley didn't even know it was me!

  "Trade secrets." He held up the Boy Scout sign again.

  "You tailed me here, didn't you?" I asked.

  "No." He shook his head vigorously. "Nope. I used my intellect and figured it out. Who are you spying on?"

  "No one," I said with a sigh.

  "Who's the guy who ordered wine? No one has ordered off that list in years. All the wine in back has dust on it. Gross."

  "Fortunately, wine can age without issue." I got to my feet then looked at him. "How do you know that?"

  "I told you—I know how everything works in town. Paper route. Hello!"

  I sat back down. "What can you tell me about Mordecai Brown?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Oh, lots. But it will cost you."

  "What will it cost me?"

  "You have to let me walk you out in handcuffs so that I can send the picture to Kayla." He thought about this and brightened. "Or maybe to the paper! That's a much better plan. Let's do that. I'll text Medea Jones and see if she can meet us outside."

  "First of all, I'm not skipping bail. My husband posted bail, and I don't want to get him in trouble. And secondly, if you don't tell me, I'm going to tell Kayla that you said druids are idiots."

  To my surprise, this worked. Kurt paled. "Okay, okay! I'll tell you."

  He settled in, and when the waitress appeared, Kurt ordered a soda water with lime.

  "It helps for those long nights on stakeouts," he explained. The more likely reason was he was underage.

  I pushed. "Mordecai."

  Kurt relented. "He's been here forever. Practically runs downtown. And he's smart too. He came up with the brilliant idea to mix the pawn shop with a gym." He tapped his forehead. "Smart."