Murder Wins the Game Page 3

  “Oh, phooey,” she said dismissively. “Lou isn’t going to press charges. He knows the lottery is rigged. I bet he gets kickbacks for bringing in a whale like Dave. Did you know Dave sold his motorhome, so he could use the money for tickets? That’s how he won two million.”

  “Mama!” I snapped. “Why do you care? When you think it’s ok to yell at Dave and slap Lou on the head, you’re out of control. This has to end now.” She hung her head, and for a fleeting moment, I felt sorry for her. “What’s going on? What’s this really all about?”

  “Do you want to meet me at Chummy’s for coffee?” she asked.

  “Let’s go back to the office,” I countered. “You’re having lunch with Nancy, so you might as well be there when she’s ready to leave.”

  She nodded and climbed into her car. I stood and watched until she pulled out. I waited a few minutes to be sure she didn’t come back to continue harassing Dave and Lou.

  Our offices were in a small strip mall in the heart of downtown Buxley. Parker’s Tavern had the largest space on the end with a side entrance on Main Street as well as a main entrance off the parking lot. Our offices were next to Parker’s. On the other side of us, a consignment store offered vintage clothing, while a new pizza shop occupied the space on the end. The pizza wasn’t very good. The sauce was acidic and the crust was always a bit gooey under the offensive sauce. I didn’t expect they would be in business for long.

  When I pulled into the lot, I saw Mama must have gone elsewhere. I almost pulled out to go back to the liquor store, but I parked and went inside. Arnie was on the phone in his office. Nancy said she hadn’t heard from Mama since she left earlier this morning.

  I was fuming as I strode into my office and plopped down at my desk. I thought Pepper was overreacting this morning, but if nothing else, Mama was certainly emotionally out of control over this lottery business.

  Arnie appeared in the doorway, his large, somewhat slouchy frame taking up most of the space. He had quit smoking over ten years ago, but he still had a deep, raspy smoker’s voice similar to Mama’s, and it boomed now. “What’s the matter with you?”

  I shook my head in exasperation and supplied him with two words, “Mama. Lottery.”

  He didn’t actually smile, but a sparkle in his eye and a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth indicated he found humor in my words. He didn’t interact much with Mama, but I heard him tell Parker once that Estelle was one helluva crazy broad. I think she amused him.

  He stepped into my office, and I noticed a large envelope in one hand.

  “Matt Ryder’s flack just left. His law firm hired us to deliver their subpoenas.”

  “Rose and Ryder Associates? Don’t they have a regular guy they use?”

  “He’s on vacation for two weeks. Matt usually does it when the guy’s not available, but he’s out of town.”

  I nodded. “Jackie said he’s visiting a sick relative – a great uncle or a great aunt. I don’t remember.”

  He tossed the envelope onto my desk. “These are all for the same case. They’re employees at Kimble’s, the auto parts outlet on Liverpool Road.”

  “Will any of them be hostile? Maybe I should carry a gun.”

  I still hadn’t purchased a weapon, but if I was going to be delivering subpoenas, this might be a good time to get one. There was no way I was going to confront violent criminals without protection.

  Arnie allowed a wry smile to cross his face. “These are subpoenas for depositions at the law firm. No one will be hostile. You can go to the warehouse and hand them all out in one trip. Everyone is expecting them.”

  “Do you know why they’re being deposed?”

  He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Their inventory’s been off for a few months. Someone’s inflating the count. When they hired a professional company to come in for a recount, they found missing parts to the tune of twenty-two thousand dollars. Someone’s walking off with inventory for their own use or to sell.”

  He turned around and left the office by way of the door to Parker’s Tavern. I doubted he would be back at his desk for the remainder of the day.

  If I ran over to Kimble’s right now, it would help take my mind off Mama and her erratic behavior. I pulled the individual envelopes out of the larger one and crammed them into my satchel. I preferred the soft leather bag to a purse. It was roomier and had loads of pockets and compartments to hold my personal items as well as my camera and other work essentials.

  When I stopped by Nancy’s desk to let her know where I was going, Mama burst through the door with another fistful of tickets in her hand.

  “I won big!” she yelled.

  I set my bag on Nancy’s desk and crossed my arms across my chest. “What do you mean you won big?”

  “I won. I ran into the Quickie Mart and bought one ticket. It was a five-hundred-dollar winner, so I reinvested all of it into more tickets. I know there’s an even bigger winner in here.”

  She apparently wasn’t here to discuss why she was so out of control.

  “I thought you were getting a perm today,” I said.

  “Milly had a walk-in, and that woman needed a perm way more than I did, so I gave her my appointment and rescheduled for four o’clock. Come help me scratch these.” She walked into my office.

  “Can’t,” I said. “I have work to do.”

  I grabbed my bag and marched out the door. I couldn’t deal with Mama right now.

  My cell phone rang as I was getting into the truck. It was Glenn.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked in lieu of a greeting.

  “Not a thing, Sherlock. How’s it going for you?” he asked.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “I will be. What’s with all the questions?”

  “Nothing. I’m just surprised to hear from you. You said you were going to bed.”

  His voice faded into a soft, sexy murmur as he said, “Well, I didn’t, and I thought I’d give you a call and let you know I’m thinking about you.”

  I would usually be happy with an I’m thinking about you call from Glenn, but dealing with Mama had cast a gloom over my sunny day. Glenn’s call felt like another irritating intrusion, and I wasn’t in the mood for sexy.

  “Good,” I said with only a hint of pleasantness. “I’m on my way to deliver subpoenas, so I have to run.”

  “Oh … ok,” he said, obviously confused by my reaction. “Are we still on for tonight?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But don’t bring the lasagna. I’m starting to put on weight again, and even though you say you don’t mind, it bothers me, so I’m cutting carbs for a while.”

  His tone changed as he adopted a defensive attitude. “No problem, Jo. I’ll stop by if I don’t have to go in early.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye.

  I immediately regretted treating him so coolly and wanted to call back to apologize, but the thought of having to explain my behavior only raised my crankiness level. I decided it was best to get on with work and smooth things over with Glenn later.

  The parts warehouse was on the western edge of town in the industrial park. I was surprised to find an empty parking lot when I pulled in. A large sign taped to the front door indicated they were closed for two weeks due to inventory.

  Swell.

  The only thing I could do now was deliver the subpoenas to everyone at their place of residence. I pulled the envelopes out of my bag and attempted to put them in some type of order to avoid backtracking all over town.

  Kim Cho was up first and lived in a trailer park a short distance from the warehouse. I had no idea if I would be serving a man or a woman.

  The mobile home was neat and tidy and looked pretty with an abundance of purple iris in bloom. The flowers had been strategically planted to partially cover the latticework around the bottom of the unit. A welcome sign with a snowman on each end hung from a twisted wire on the front door.

  I parked next to a pickup truck that was the same color an
d model as mine, but this one was older with rust along the bottom edge and around the doors and windows. An image of me behind the wheel of the rundown vehicle flashed through my mind. I had to shake my head and tell myself I would trade my new truck in long before it reached rust status.

  I knocked on the door and glanced around while I waited. I was pleasantly surprised by how well-kept all the homes were. I had never had occasion to drive into the park before and had wrongfully assumed the majority of the homes would be rundown with loads of junk sitting around. My opinion most likely came from watching too much television.

  The door opened, and a man with a fat cigar dangling from his mouth leaned out. He wore jeans and a sleeveless undershirt. A white restaurant-style apron had been folded down and tied over his jeans at his waist. Red sauce splatters peppered his shirt and apron. The aroma wafting out the door indicated heavy garlic.

  “What can I do for you, little lady?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for Kim Cho,” I said.

  “You got him.”

  Once again, my preconceived notions caught me off-guard. The man certainly didn’t look like a Cho.

  He smiled, showing a few bits of tobacco stuck in his teeth. “I get that all the time. My mother was Korean. I have no idea who my father was, but he must have been Italian, because I got his good looks, and I can cook the best spaghetti you ever ate. You wanna come in and have some?”

  I held out the envelope. He took it from me, and I said, “You’ve been served.”

  “Served what? Come on in and have some lunch. We’ll talk about it.”

  “No, thanks. I have to get the rest of these subpoenas delivered.” I stepped back from the door and walked toward my truck.

  The man wasn’t as cheerful or flirty when he called out, “You tell Chet Kimble he better get this straightened out. I can’t afford time off with no pay like this.”

  “You can tell him yourself at your deposition,” I called back. “The time and place is on your subpoena.”

  I jumped into my truck and drove off.

  It would have been much easier to pass the subpoenas out at the warehouse. Mr. Cho had made it clear I would be serving a group of unhappy, temporarily unemployed people.

  As I headed to my next stop, I couldn’t help making a mental note. Kim Cho - not guilty.

  The next four subpoenas were delivered with little comment from the recipients. It may have helped that instead of saying, “You’ve been served,” I tried to be more pleasant and said, “Here’s the subpoena for your deposition.”

  Deponent number six was a young man who smelled of marijuana and reeked of alcohol. When I handed his envelope to him, he immediately tore it up and said, “Bite me.”

  He watched while I pulled my camera out of my bag and snapped a picture of the torn subpoena at his feet. He had the biggest, hairiest big toes I had ever seen. If confronted, he couldn’t deny the feet in the picture were his.

  I turned around and ran back to my truck. A string of swear words followed me. I made a mental note. Greg Chambers - guilty.

  I managed to deliver fourteen of the seventeen subpoenas. Three people either hadn’t been home or didn’t answer when I knocked.

  It was after six o’clock when I headed for home. I would have finished sooner, but one of the employees was a high school classmate from fourteen years ago, and we spent over an hour reminiscing. I couldn’t believe how much information she knew about everyone we had gone to school with – most of it worthy of a tabloid newspaper.

  When I insisted I had to leave, she insisted we keep in touch and invited me to a get-together with two more of our classmates. She said they met at Chummy’s every Friday afternoon for coffee and to share new tidbits of gossip. I almost said yes until she mentioned her cousin would be there, too. “It’ll be fun,” she said.

  “Who’s your cousin?” I asked.

  “You know my cousin Vicki. She works at the bank. She always has the best stories at the end of the week.”

  I maintained my composure, but I was infuriated to learn Vicki was the source of most of the dirt I had just heard.

  A town rumor mill emanated from the beauty shop, but that gossip usually consisted of main events and less intrusive information. Vicki used her position at the bank to pry information from customers under the guise of being concerned and caring. She was probably the life of the party when she filled the Friday afternoon coffee klatch in on divorces, cheaters, and money matters that were none of her business. I was sure Mama, her bank withdrawals, and her new lottery habit would be one of Vicki’s big stories this week.

  I declined her offer and told her not to be late for her deposition or they might put out a warrant for her arrest. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t a nice thing to say, but it made me feel better.

  By the time I turned onto Clark Street and headed for the cul-de-sac at the end of the street, I was dog tired.

  There were four houses on the cul-de-sac. I pulled into the driveway of the first house on the right and parked in front of the garage door. A quick glance in the rear view mirror to the house opposite mine showed no sign of activity. The garage door was down, so I assumed Pepper and the kids weren’t home. Her husband, Buck, was a long-haul driver, and I knew he wouldn’t be home until late Friday night.

  I trudged down the drive to the mailbox. The mailman had tucked a few envelopes into the rolled end of a housewares catalog. It was a safe assumption they were bills. They were always bills.

  I trudged back up the drive, grabbed my bag from the truck, and let myself into the house. After tossing everything onto the coffee table, I continued trudging up the stairs to the bathroom. My feet felt heavy, and it was an effort to walk. I’d feel better after a shower and a bite to eat.

  Twenty minutes later, I was comfortable in sweatpants and a t-shirt and sitting cross-legged in my overstuffed chair with the refrigerator in the side. I ordered food from Smitty’s, my favorite hole-in-the-wall dive bar that served the best ribs in this part of the state. I was cutting back on the frequency of my orders, but I couldn’t quit Smitty completely.

  I reached down to pull a Lite Beer from the chair before picking up the phone’s handset again. The red phone and large chair were flea market finds. I loved the comfy chair, and the phone had been a fun, top secret - as in call-the-President-top-secret – way of communicating investigative business with Pepper and Jackie until my business merger with Arnie. Now the number was known all over town.

  I dialed Jackie.

  “Hello?”

  She answered as if asking a question.

  “Hi, it’s me. What are you doing?”

  “I was thinking about not answering my phone. You know, Jo, it’s past time for you to take that phone to a thrift shop.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said incredulously. “It’s the cornerstone of my business, and why didn’t you want to talk to me?”

  “It’s not that I didn’t want to talk with you. I didn’t know it was you calling. The number for that old rotary phone doesn’t come up on my caller I.D., and with all the harassing phone calls since I broke the Hapsburg story, I don’t want to answer if I don’t know who’s calling.”

  “Ok,” I said to appease her. “From now on, I’ll call you on my cell phone. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon? I have to see Richard Munson at his place, and I don’t want to go by myself.”

  “You’re going to the Munson mansion?”

  “I don’t want to, but he won’t come to the office. He’s insisting I come to him.”

  Jackie sounded wistful when she said, “I’ve always wanted to see inside that place.”

  “Well, come with me. I already told you I don’t want to go by myself.”

  “I can’t. I’m covering a poetry event at the library. Nick was supposed to do it, but he was riding dirt bikes with his brother last night, and he fell and broke his leg. He won’t be at the paper for at least a week.”

  “How long does it take to read some poet
ry? Couldn’t you slip out for a while?”

  “The library remodeling is complete, and we’re devoting an entire section to them this Sunday. Not only do I have to cover the poetry event for Nick, but I have to interview each department head. It’s going to be an all-day affair for me.”

  Resigned to going alone, I said, “If you change your mind, I’m expected there at four o’clock, and I’ll be there about an hour.”

  I hung up and grabbed the remote from the coffee table. I flipped through the channels hoping to find a detective or crime show. There wasn’t anything new, so I settled on a Castle rerun.

  The ribs arrived a short time later, and I was pleased with myself when I only ate half of them. Glenn could have the rest. If he wasn’t bringing the lasagna, I’d at least have something for him to eat, and he might be more forgiving of my attitude this morning.

  The mail was still sticking out of the end of the catalog from where I had tossed it onto the coffee table. I pulled the envelopes out and flipped through them. As expected, they were mostly bills, but one envelope was crinkled, torn, and taped on one end. It was from the county courthouse.

  I ripped the envelope open and unfolded the contents. It was a jury duty summons. Jury duty that started this coming Friday.

  How could that be? Three days wasn’t enough notice for someone to serve on a jury. A closer look at the envelope showed three postmarks - one from Buxley, one from Sacramento, and another from Topeka. My jury summons had taken a detour by way of California for eighteen days.

  A questionnaire was included. I was supposed to have provided personal information and any reasons why I wouldn’t be able to perform my civic duty. Of course there were reasons I couldn’t perform my civic duty. I had subpoenas to deliver. I had cases to solve. I had to deal with Mama.

  The questionnaire was supposed to have been returned to the Clerk of Courts ten days ago. Was there a penalty for ignoring a summons? A warrant for my arrest? Officer Collins would be all over that. He would find some reason to use his taser on me again. I wasn’t getting tased, and I wasn’t going to jail. I’d stop at the courthouse in the morning and resolve the matter.