Maybe Murder Read online

  Chapter Ten

  Kalico pounded toward the basket from half-court, feinted right, pushing Victor back with his hip, then turned left, jumped, and sank the shot. Swish!

  “Nice shot.” Victor bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Although a cold front had come in over night dropping the temperature into the lower 60’s, he was sweating profusely.

  “Too many doughnuts?” Kalico dribbled the basketball lazily.

  “Ha. Ha. Too much of Gabriella’s cooking. I’ve gained the newlywed ten.”

  “More like twenty.”

  Victor rubbed his belly and laughed. “Just more of me to love. Speaking of food, let’s go to Kerby Lane. I’m hungry for pumpkin pancakes.”

  “Can’t. I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”

  “What? A wandering weimaraner? A lab on the loose?”

  “Something like that,” responded Kalico, determined to not let Vic get to him.

  “Frankly, you’re looking a little worse for wear.”

  Kalico nodded ruefully. “Been sitting in a meadow since 5 a.m., watching for a ghost.”

  Victor decided not to ask. “We’re taking applications for the next Police Academy class. Think about it. We could partner up.” He laughed.

  Suddenly serious, Kalico replied, “I will.” The idea of a regular paycheck with benefits, greater resources, and more help was appealing.

  “Good. Gabi would like you to come to dinner next Sunday. She’s making enchiladas.”

  “Great!”

  “She’s got this friend, Isabella that she’d like you to meet. A real beauty.”

  “Vic, please. No set ups.” Kalico had decided long ago that he wouldn’t date until his business was established. He didn’t have the time or the money that women required. “See you next week?”

  “Same time, same place. And don’t forget about dinner.”

  Kalico pulled a tattered burnt orange sweatshirt over his head, jumped in his Civic, and drove to the Jiffy Lube on Brodie Lane, the garage where Connor had brought his grandmother’s car to be serviced the day of her accident. He asked for an oil change and reviewed Nancy’s service history as he waited. He had lifted it from her Accord’s glove compartment just that morning. The car’s oil had been changed, air filter replaced, and transmission fluid topped. According to the history, her brakes had not been inspected. As he paid, Kalico conversed casually with the on-site manager. He hadn’t had any staff changes in the past six months

  Next Kalico drove to Alvarez Automotive where Nancy MacLeod’s car had been towed after her accident. He reread her accident report before he walked into the cramped office.

  “How can I help you?” A stocky Hispanic man with thick, white hair greeted Kalico from behind a service desk.

  “Mr. Alvarez?”

  “Yes.”

  ”My name is Benjamin Kalico. I’m a friend of Nancy MacLeod’s. She asked me to follow up on the accident she had last February. The insurance company is giving her some grief over its settlement.”

  Mr. Alvarez nodded in sympathy. People pay their premiums but the companies never want to make good on their claims.

  “She drives a 2015 Honda Accord LX that you repaired,” Kalico paused to check the date, “the week of February 23.”

  “Yes. Mrs. MacLeod. My granddaughter goes to her Story Time at the public library every Saturday. Don’t let that insurance company shortchange her. Let me pull up her file.”

  As the man went to his computer, Kalico looked around the office. The shop had a long history in South Austin, was family owned and operated, and had received numerous, positive customer reviews.

  “Here it is.” His printer began to whir. “Mrs. MacLeod was lucky not to have been seriously injured. Her driver’s side bumper was crumpled and left tire flattened. We did the bodywork, replaced the tire, and realigned the car.”

  “Mrs. MacLeod said that her brakes felt mushy.”

  “We also did a full brake inspection.” He squinted at his mechanic’s notes. “Her brake pads were wearing thin on the right, and her brake fluid was low.”

  “Did your mechanic notice any holes or cracks in the fluid lines?” Kalico asked.

  “No. Just signs of aging. We recommended pad and line replacement which we completed.”

  Kalico jotted down a note on his phone. “May I have a copy of your service report for Mrs. MacLeod’s records?” Mr. Alvarez handed him the pages still warm from the printer. “Except from general wear and tear on the brake fluid lines, is there any other reason why a car’s brakes would lose pressure?”

  “There could be small leaks in the fluid lines that a general inspection would not catch.” Mr. Alvarez rubbed his palm against the stubbles on his chin. “Of course, someone could drain fluid from the system.”

  Kalico nodded, thanked him and left. He checked the time: 8:50. He went to his apartment, showered and changed, silently blessing his mother for the clean clothes. He needed to visit Nancy. But first he stopped at his office to add the names to his white board that Miss Winterjoy had texted to him. Then he carefully opened the baggie with the right gardening glove, inspected it, nodded to himself, and resealed it. He’d need to stop at Whole Foods for a small purchase before visiting hours.

  ***

  Settled at the end of the small sage loveseat in Nancy MacLeod’s hospital room, Emelia Winterjoy calmly knitted a red cape for her corgi, Snowdon, as her bright and ever-watchful eyes surveyed a lively scene. Margie, Susan, and Jane had bustled in shortly after 9 a.m. with books and flowers, dark chocolate and crossword puzzles. They buzzed around Nancy gossiping, laughing, and sympathizing—all talking at once.

  “My granddaughter, Louise, has been accepted to Rice. Now, we’re waiting to hear about scholarships…”

  “I think Rosemary Martinelli had a little something done around her eyes. We ran into her at Nordstroms and…”

  “Kale and soy salad with blueberries, salmon, and whole grains. Nance, you need to try this anti-inflammation diet…”

  The patient was holding court, obviously enjoying the attention. She sat up in bed, a green scarf around her neck and her colorful throw over her lap. Emelia had brushed her hair and applied her make-up earlier. Still, tension showed around her eyes, and her hand was throbbing. Emelia determined to shoo the visitors away shortly.

  For now, she let the activity float around her as she reviewed her long and, at times, difficult conversation with Lynn earlier that morning. Her niece had demanded to know what was going on. As Emelia shared her suspicions, Lynn had been alternatively skeptical, alarmed, thoughtful, and, finally, cooperative—with reservations, especially with her decision to employ a detective. But at least they had a plan: Nancy was not to be left alone. They would share guard duty—easy enough while Nancy was in the hospital, more problematic when she returned home.

  She glanced up to see Kalico standing in the doorway, observing the scene. He nodded at her when she caught his eye.

  “Benjamin, come in!” Nancy called brightly. “How good of you to visit! Come in and meet the girls.”

  Kalico stepped into the room as the three women turned simultaneously to see the new visitor.

  “Let me introduce you.” Nancy indicated a stocky woman with short gray hair and intelligent hazel eyes filled with curiosity. “This is Margie David.” She next nodded to a woman with shoulder-length silver-blond hair. This is Susan Jankowsky. And last, but not least, let me introduce Jane Roundtree.” A small and very round woman with short brown hair and brown eyes framed by dark oval glasses nodded at him. “Ladies, this is Benjamin Kalico.” She paused for effect. “He saved my life.”

  Instantly, Kalico found himself surrounded as each woman thanked him, exclaiming, and firing off questions. Margie shook his hand firmly, Susan enveloped him in a perfumed hug, and Jane took his hand in both of hers and pumped it.

  In her best English teacher’s voice Emelia interrupted: “Ladies, quiet, please. Let the young man breathe.” They
obeyed.

  Extricated, Kalico moved to Nancy’s bedside and took her outstretched left hand. He’d hoped to speak to her alone, but he was grateful to meet the book circle in person. Now he could put faces to the names he had written on his white board last night.

  Nancy squeezed his hand and said simply, “Thank you.”

  “Any time,” he responded lightly.

  “Let’s just pray there’s not a next time,” offered Jane, blinking rapidly behind her big glasses.

  They all concurred.

  “But tell us about the accident from your point of view, Benjamin.” Susan leaned forward, prepared for a good story. “Emelia says that you acted with alacrity and great presence of mind.”

  Kalico retold yesterday’s events, warming to such an attentive audience. Emelia added a detail here and there, once reprimanding him for being too hyperbolic. “The events were dramatic enough; there is no need to embellish.”

  When he finished, Nancy’s eyes glistened. “You and Emelia are my guardian angels.”

  Emelia sniffed. “No one has ever accused me of being an angel. And don’t forget Moody.”

  “Of course, my Moody-girl.”

  “So Ben,” began Susan, “you’re a handyman? I have a large redwood deck that needs refinishing…”

  “Don’t be daft, Suse,” interrupted Jane. “Benjamin Kalico—K-A-L-I-C-O—he’s a detective.”

  “How exciting!” Margie, a devoted mystery buff looked at Ben with renewed interest.

  “You found that famous Siamese cat a couple of months ago, didn’t you?” Jane peered at him over the tops of her glasses.

  “Yes. But she was a Persian.”

  “I remember that now. It was all over the news.” Susan leaned forward. Her silver earrings glinted in the artificial light. “Being a detective must be so exciting.”

  “Sometimes,” Ben surveyed the circle of interested faces. “But there’s a lot of research, surveillance, and foot work. You know what they say: there’s tedium punctuated by moments of high anxiety.”

  “Have you tracked down any nasty criminals?”

  “He’s not a bounty hunter, Margie,” corrected Emelia.

  “Not really. I specialize primarily on pet retrievals and leave the heavy lifting to the police.”

  “That’s a nice service, I guess,” said Margie, disappointed.

  “It is.” Emelia broke in, deciding to change the subject. “Have you all finished this month’s novel?”

  Everyone in the book circle nodded except for Susan. “I’m on the last part, so don’t say anything! I can’t wait to find out who done it.”

  “I guess our meeting will have to be delayed,” said Jane.

  “I don’t see why it should,” said Nancy. “They’re going to release me tomorrow, unless I can talk the doctor into letting me go home today. I’ll be fine for our meeting. Besides, it’s at Emelia’s, so I only have to walk next door.”

  “Good. I’ll bring the spinach salad,” said Margie.

  “I’m good for dessert,” said Jane.

  “I’m making my famous potatoes au gratin,” said Susan.

  “And I’m roasting a pork loin,” Emelia stated, then she added, “Ladies, I think it’s time to leave so that Nancy may rest. I’ll walk you out.” Amidst a flurry of farewells, she efficiently herded the group out the door.

  Kalico stayed behind. “That’s quite a trio.”

  “Good friends. We’ve known each other for ages.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Ready to go home,” Nancy responded, but she rested her head on her pillow and her left hand worried the throw.

  “That’s a beautiful blanket,” Kalico commented, as he tried to figure out how to move the conversation to the missing EpiPen.

  Nancy smiled. “My mother-in-law made it for our first wedding anniversary.” She indicated a framed photograph on a little side table. Kalico brought it over to her.

  “That’s my Gareth.” She pointed to a laughing man in a gray suit who had his arm around a shaggy-haired boy of about ten. “And that’s our son, Patrick. He’s a lawyer. Practices in the Bay area.”

  “Connor looks just like him.”

  “The MacLeod men are handsome and charming.”

  Kalico would never have associated charm with Connor. He wondered where her beloved grandson was anyway.

  “Connor will be in to visit me later,” Nancy said, as though reading his mind. “Poor boy, he hates hospitals Ever since…” She paused and closed her eyes as if to block out a dark memory.

  “Ever since what?” Kalico prompted quietly.

  “Since the accident.”

  Kalico waited as Nancy gathered her thoughts.

  “Connor adored his grandpa. When he came to visit during the summers, the two of them were inseparable. Gareth took him swimming at Barton Springs, hiking on the greenbelt, and biking around Town Lake. They went fishing and on campouts. I think Pat was too busy building his law practice to do things with his son, but Gareth relished being a grandpa.”

  “What happened?”

  “One early July morning, the boys—Gareth was as much of a boy as Connor— went out for an early morning bicycle ride around the neighborhood. I remember wishing them a good ride and reminding them to be back in thirty minutes because I was making French toast—Connor’s favorite. Forty-five minutes later, I was fuming. But neither Gareth nor Connor possessed a sense of time, so I just turned off the stove. Then the phone rang: it was the hospital. Gareth’s bike had hit a stone in the road, and he’d been thrown over his handlebars. He’d broken his collarbone and his right arm and was going into surgery.”

  “And Connor?”

  “He was shaken but fine. We sat in the waiting room together until Gareth came out of surgery. When he woke up, he was fine. In some pain and in a brace, but, otherwise, fine. We visited for a while, he asked me to smuggle in some of my French toast, and then I left the room to get him a cup of ice. I wasn’t gone more than a minute.” She shook her head at the memory. “I was walking back to the room, when I saw Connor standing outside in the hall. He was crying with his arms gripped around his body as though he were holding himself together. Commotion filled Gareth’s room—doctors and nurses were shouting orders ....”

  “It must have been terrifying.”

  “Yes. It was. Gareth died. An embolism, they said.” Nancy looked lovingly at her husband’s picture. “I never got to say good-bye.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We had forty-two good years together, but that was not enough. I guess, no one ever has enough time.” She sighed. “Connor was in the room when his grandpa died.”

  “Poor kid. Man, I can understand why he’d avoid hospitals!”

  “Yes. He hides it, but he’s very sensitive.”

  “He’s lucky to have you,” Kalico said sincerely. “Nancy, a quick question: do you normally keep an EpiPen in your gardening bag?”

  “I do. Always have.” She lowered her head. “I must have forgotten to put one into the new bag I got for Christmas. Forgetting things is the curse of growing old.”

  “I can never recall where I put my car keys. I don’t think losing things has much to do with age.” Kalico placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I had better go before Miss Winterjoy rousts me out of here.”

  “Thank you again, Benjamin. And thank you for the beautiful geranium.”

  “You’re welcome. Feel better soon.” He moved toward the door, paused, and turned as though just remembering something. He pulled the small bottle he had purchased at Whole Foods out of his pocket. “I almost forgot. My mother sent this bottle of lavender for you. She’s into aroma therapy and says it will bring relaxation and sweet dreams.”

  “That’s so thoughtful.” Nancy looked at the lavender for a moment, then held it out to Kalico again. “I’m afraid that I’m allergic to most scents. They make my skin break out into little red bumps. But do thank your mother for me.”

  Kalico pock
eted the lavender, repeated his good-bye and left. He wanted to get back to his office. His suspicion had been confirmed, and he needed to mull over what he’d learned today. Moreover, as a text from Miss Winterjoy had reminded him, he had a report to write. There are no good excuses for turning in work late. Late work suggests poor time management and impedes productivity. He could just see her putting a zero next to his name in her grade book.

  Chapter Eleven

  A light drizzle began to fall as Kalico circumnavigated the mile loop at Dick Nichols Park. He zipped up his jacket as he turned onto the dirt trail that led to the meadow. As he expected, the area was empty, save for a few early Sunday morning dog walkers. He wound the dog leash around his left hand. The tip of an animal control pole peaked out from the top of his backpack that also contained gourmet dog treats and food.

  He squinted through the drizzle toward the last area Ghost had been spotted. A huddled figure dressed in black perched on a small boulder several yards away from the dense brush.

  “M’s?”

  The girl turned haunted eyes toward him. “I had him, Ben. I had Ghost.” She turned her head away. “I had him.”

  Kalico sat down on his heels. “Tell me,” he said softly.

  “I got here at 6:30, set out food, and waited.” She pursed her lips together. “You’re right by the way: a stake out is an uncomfortable bore. I was just about to give up, thinking that maybe Ghost does not want to be found. After all, he made his escape; he’s free unlike….” She lowered her head. “Then I heard a faint rustle in the grass and saw a white shadow float through the cedars. He stepped out, right over there.” She pointed to a small break in the brush. “He’s magnificent. He stood on alert: head up, ears forward, aware of my presence. I could tell that he wanted to eat. He took two steps toward the dish when a woman being pulled by an unruly brindled mutt appeared from nowhere.” She clicked her tongue in irritation. “She let her dog eat Ghost’s food.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”