Chapter 17 #2
While everything cooled completely, I brewed a second cup of coffee, and though I craved a cookie, I opted for a protein bar from the walk-in refrigerator. To make it through the day, I’d need sustenance, not a sugar rush.
An hour later I loaded the items into the Ford Transit.
First on the delivery schedule was Jukebox Joint, Zach’s mother’s place.
The diner’s entrance was adorned with a flashy turquoise-and-red neon sign with the words Jukebox squarely upright and Joint on a slant.
Inside, large turquoise vinyl booths lined the walls, while tables with red vinyl chairs filled the open floor space.
Yellow stools brought a pop of color to the curved counter.
Red, yellow, and turquoise accents abounded, from the sugar containers to the coffee mugs.
At the far end of the diner stood a walnut-paneled jukebox sporting neon bands.
Though retro in style, it had been updated with LED-powered Bluetooth, so a diner could connect to it with any Bluetooth device.
The popular Elvis song “Blue Suede Shoes” was blasting through overhead speakers.
There were no customers. It was way too early. The diner’s hours were noon until nine.
“Morning!” Jenny Armstrong waved to me from behind the counter as I entered. She rounded it quickly, wiping her hands on her red-checked apron. “Lovely to see you.”
“You, as well.”
A petite woman in her mid-fifties, Jenny, like her son, Zach, was the kind of person who instantly made people feel comfortable. She had an easy gait, a warm smile, and bright eyes twinkling with humor. Her soft brown hair was secured in a snood.
I crossed to her with two pastry boxes. “I have your order.”
Though Jukebox Joint was known for its barbecue and its burgers, Jenny had decided to add sweets to the menu for those who ventured in for a late afternoon coffee and treat.
“Bless you.” Her voice was raspy, as though she shouted orders all day every day …
or sang along with whatever song was playing.
I’d caught her on a recent delivery crooning into a spatula.
“I can’t tell you how much my customers are loving these goodies.
” She took the boxes, set them on the counter, and tucked a stray lock of hair into the snood before pulling a wallet from the pocket of her apron.
“Here you go.” She paid me the full amount, as I requested of all my customers.
The door opened, which made the overhead chimes jangle.
Jenny beamed. “Hello, handsome.”
I pivoted and saw Zach entering. He frowned, which made me feel sooo welcome. Not.I mustered a smile, said I was leaving, and started past him.
“I got your message about the cuff link,” he said. “You could be right.”
“Even if I am, I learned Iggie has an alibi.”
“Playing poker.”
“No. He was dallying with his wife’s best friend.”
Jenny coughed out a laugh. “He’s stepping out with Ulla? My, my.”
“Mom, you did not hear any of this,” Zach warned.
“But I can’t unhear it, sweetheart.”
“Go sing, Mom,” he chided. “Shoo!”
She cackled and returned to her spot behind the counter.
Zach addressed me. “Who’d you hear this from?”
I told him. “Who else is on your radar?”
He didn’t respond.
“You wouldn’t say the other day, but Patrick Hardwick’s alibi is iffy, and he and Jason had a run-in at the bookshop.”
“I heard.”
“Who told you?”
“Chloe let it slip to a friend, who mentioned it to Detective Bates. Word gets around. Care to give me the specifics?”
I did my best. “In the end, Jason held Patrick down and said, ‘Memories of one’s mistakes rarely fade.’”
‘“Memories of one’s mistakes.’”
“Mm-hmm. Well, get this, Tegan and I learned Patrick went astray a few times in his past.”
Zach folded his arms, but he didn’t order me to be quiet. Maybe he didn’t want to snap at me with his mother present.
“Before I tell you more,” I began, “I want you to know I like Patrick, and I don’t want him to be guilty.”
One side of his mouth twitched, as if he was tamping down a smile. “Go on.”
“We ran into an old friend of his at Linville Caverns.”
“What were you … Never mind. Continue.”
“The friend told us he and Patrick did some eco-trashing when they were young.” I quickly explained the term. “The friend—”
“Got a name?”
“Zorro. I didn’t get a last name. I don’t know where he lives. It was pure coincidence to run into him. Anyway, he said the stunt hurt Patrick’s relationship with his stepfather.”
“Which has nothing to do with Jason Gardner.”
“Right, and having a reputation for eco-trashing probably wouldn’t hurt Patrick in the long run.
Kids do silly stuff.” Like make prank calls, I mused.
“But get this. Zorro started to share something more about Patrick and stopped. He said, ‘The other thing was what prevented Patrick from getting a grant to attend college.’”
“What other thing?”
“I was curious, too, so I did a bit of evidence searching online.”
His mouth twitched. “You mean investigating?”
“I landed on a person-in-the-spotlight article about Patrick and his business. He assaulted someone.”
Jenny appeared at my side, a spray bottle of cleanser in one hand, a rag in the other. “Did the article say who he assaulted?”
“Mom,” Zach said.
She squirted the cleanser at him, missing on purpose. “I’m here. I’m listening.” She turned back to me. “Did it?”
“No,” I replied. “The article didn’t pop up. The text next to the link read, ‘Hardwick’s sealed record for assault remains secret.’ When I clicked on it, it led nowhere.”
“I hate broken links,” Jenny said. “They’re maddening. You always end up on a page for some miracle cure, or you wind up on a bogus site eager to eat your computer’s brain.”
I nodded.
“But an independent business operator must learn to navigate the Internet if one is to thrive,” she said. “What else did you learn?”
Zach’s gaze remained fixed.
“I saw a picture of Patrick, age ten, by his father’s grave, and the caption mentioned his father had killed someone, but it didn’t elaborate. Around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years ago, I figure.”
“I remember that!” Jenny exclaimed and regarded her son.
“I was pregnant with you at the time.” She said to me, “What was the man’s name?
Gil … Gil … Gil … Killagher.” She swatted her leg with the wet rag.
“Remember the Killaghers?” she asked Zach.
“They owned a one-hundred-and-fifty-acre ranch north of here. No, you wouldn’t remember.
It was bought by another operation by the time you were a toddler.
Gil was a drunk. He started a knife fight with Patrick’s father.
I’m surprised the photograph you saw said Patrick’s father murdered the man.
It was self-defense. He went to prison, though, and died a year later.
In a knife fight, of all things. How ironic. ”
Zach said, “Just because his father killed someone doesn’t mean Patrick would have.”
“Of course not,” I said. “I’d hate to be judged by my parents’ faults.
” Which were few. Lack of interest in pursuits other than their own was their worst. “But doesn’t it make you wonder?
What if Jason knew all this and somehow got his hands on the sealed record?
What if he threatened to expose Patrick? ”
“Good point,” Jenny said.
“Mother, please.”
“Your father always said—”
“I know what Dad said. You quote him often enough.”
She glowered at her son.
“Patrick said he ran into Jason outside town hall after the fracas,” I went on, undeterred. “He said they mended fences, and I checked. A gardener did see them there.”
Zach made a dismissive sound with his tongue.
I ignored him and continued. “But the gardener didn’t know what they discussed, and said the two men did some finger-pointing.
Patrick told me Jason had hired him to do some repairs to the back porch of his house, but what if he lied so he could claim he’d visited the estate and gotten mud on his shoes? ”
Except he said he’d muddied his boots at Linville Caverns.
“What mud?” Zach snapped.
“Tuesday morning, when I saw Patrick at the Blue Lantern, he had dried mud on his boots. He said he’d acquired it at Linville Caverns, thus, the reason why Tegan and I drove up there. To see if he’d left evidence of having been there.”
Zach groaned.
“Have you tested the dirt from Jason’s foyer floor?”
“We’re awaiting results.”
“You might find remnants to test in Patrick’s truck or at his house. Also, there’s one more person you should consider. Reika—”
“Allie, enough,” Zach said, a stern warning in a tone, which, to be truthful, I was beginning to hate.
“She has a dog. The neighbor, Mr. Smith, heard a dog barking Monday night. What if—”
Zach swatted the air. “Thank you for your information. Bye. And, Mom, don’t say a word.”
She mimed locking her lips.
When he left, I didn’t move, angry with myself. Over the years, my parents had cautioned me about being impulsive. Mostly, I’d learned to curb this bad habit. Why hadn’t I been able to today? I’d crossed the line with Zach without blinking an eye.
Give it a rest, I thought. Everyone’s entitled to act stupidly once in a while. On the other hand, you really abuse the privilege.