Chapter 15 #2
“Exactly.” I tapped my pen against the pad. “What about Friday night, Rachel? Do you know what Kenny was doing?”
“Working,” Rachel said, “as far as I know. He’s still bartending at that place in Green Hills when he isn’t working on getting his own place ready. But I don’t know when he might have gotten off or whether he had time to go to Bellevue that night.”
There was plenty of time between when Zachary left Nick’s duplex at eleven-thirty and the time I showed up at nine-ish the next morning for anyone to do anything. No matter when Kenny left work, there would have been time for him to drive to Bellevue and shoot Nick.
Of course, the police—or more accurately, the medical examiner—might have determined a more specific time of death, but as far as I was concerned, Kenny was still on the board for the shooting.
“The mob?” I suggested next. “Mendoza said it was Nick’s fault that they started using the Body Shop to launder money. And it must have been either Nick or Sal who involved the police. If the mob found out about that, they could have decided to make an example of him.”
“That would explain the execution-style bullet to the forehead,” Zachary agreed. “It’s got that professional vibe to it.”
I nodded. “So does my door. Except—”
Rachel nodded. “Except wouldn’t they have used real blood if they were trying to scare you?”
It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed my own mind. However—
“I can’t imagine it’d be that easy to get a bucket of real blood, can you? And I don’t know why they’d want to scare me in the first place. All I did was find Nick. I have nothing to do with anything else.”
“You followed Abruzzi from the Body Shop to Sambuca,” Zachary pointed out. “And then you ran into the big guy in the back of the restaurant.”
“Yes, but I don’t think I behaved suspiciously on that occasion. And I wasn’t even driving my own car when I followed Gio to Sambuca. I was driving Rachel’s.”
I slanted a look at her. She made a face.
“What about Sal?” Zachary wanted to know. “Nick got his business tangled up with the mob. That’s got to make him angry.”
“You’d think. But you said yourself that they seemed fine on Friday night. If Sal was upset with Nick, surely he wouldn’t spend all that time with him, just the two of them. And Jacquie said Sal was like a father to Nick. Unless you think he was faking?”
“It didn’t look like it,” Zach grumbled, “although what do I know? They were inside and I was in the parking lot.”
I hid a smile. “Right. So you said.”
He made a little huffy sound. “What did Mrs. Miller say?
“About Sal? Not much. She knew who he was, and that he seemed nice enough.”
“What do we know about her?” Zachary wanted to know.
“Mrs. Miller? Again, not much. She’s an elderly woman with too many cats who owns the duplex Nick was renting. Her husband’s dead. She heard Nick’s truck arrive but claims she didn’t hear the gunshot. She said he was a nice boy who helped her with her groceries, but we only have her word for that.”
Zachary leaned forward. “She was there, so she had opportunity. And she might have had motive. Maybe means, too. An old lady living by herself? She might own a gun. For protection.”
She might. I’d come across vicious old ladies before, so I knew very well that they aren’t all harmless. Several have tried to kill me, as a matter of fact.
“Most people are killed by someone they know,” I said slowly.
Zachary nodded. “What if he wasn’t paying rent, or was playing music too loud, or—I don’t know—kicked one of her cats because it sprayed on his tires?”
“You think he’d do that?” I wrote it down anyway. “Or that she would?”
“She must like cats quite a lot,” Rachel opined, “to have so many. Half a dozen, you said?”
“Maybe more. I don’t know if saw them all.”
“I’d do something bad to anyone who kicked Edwina,” Zachary said, and I had to admit that I so would I. Maybe not murder, but I’d certainly slash their tires or something equally vicious and petty.
“Anyone else that needs to go on the list?”
I couldn’t think of anyone else, and said so.
“So what do we do?” Zachary wanted to know. “Now that we’re actually getting paid to solve this crime?”
“Nothing stupid,” Rachel admonished. “Let the police handle the mob. If Abruzzi or the other guy killed Nick, let’s not get involved in that.”
Fine by me. I tapped the pen against the page. “I suppose we keep an eye on them. One of us at the Body Shop, one at the duplex in Bellevue.”
“I’ll take the Body Shop,” Zachary volunteered. “I already know the routine. And it’s nice to have the Taco Bell so close for when I get hungry.” He grinned.
“I’ll take Bellevue, then.” And maybe I’d take Kenny, too, on my way there. “You’ll tell us if Kenny starts to behave like he has a guilty conscience, won’t you, Rachel?”
“Of course,” Rachel said. “What about Jacquie? She’s the one who hired us, but—”
“But she’s also a suspect.” I nodded. “Seems stupid, though. If she killed Nick, why hire us to investigate his murder?”
“Maybe she is stupid,” Rachel said.
“I’m sure she is. But I don’t think she’s stupid enough to draw attention to herself when she doesn’t have to.”
“She could be trying to be clever. Hiding in plain sight, so to speak.”
“That would be even more stupid than leaving it alone. And unless you want to go in the field—”
Rachel shook her head. “No, thank you. I have enough to do here.”
“Well, then there are only two of us, and we can only be in so many places. Between the mob—and we’re not keeping an eye on them; Mendoza and Megan have that covered—and Sal and Mrs. Miller, I think our time is better spent watching Sal and Mrs. Miller than Jacquie.”
Zach nodded agreement.
“Besides,” I added, “if it wasn’t Sal or Mrs. Miller—or the mob—then there’s only Jacquie left.” And Kenny. “So we zero in on her either way.”
“I suppose,” Rachel said reluctantly.
I stood up. “All right, then. Zachary, you go to Taco Bell. See what you can observe at the Body Shop. I’ll go stake out Mrs. Miller’s house.”
Zachary was already on his feet, grabbing his keys. “On it.”
He was out the door in seconds, leaving Rachel and me alone with Edwina. He hadn’t even given her time to petition for being allowed to come along.
“Be careful,” Rachel said. “If she killed Nick, she’s got a gun. And you’ve got a history of running afoul of nasty old ladies.”
I shook my head. “She’s not going to kill me. Not in broad daylight in front of the neighbors, and for no reason.”
“Make sure you don’t give her a reason. No snap decisions to go inside her house because you think it’s empty, or anything.”
I promised I wouldn’t, and bent down to scratch Edwina’s ears. “You stay with Rachel, sweetie. There are too many cats where I’m going for you to come with. You’d bark at them and give me away.”
She huffed, but put her head down. “I’ll be back by the end of the day to pick her up,” I added. “Make sure you let her out at least once.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I do this every other day of the week, Gina. I know the drill by now.”
Of course she did. “Does Kenny still live in that little condo on Hillsboro Pike that David bought for him?”
Her face closed. “What do you want with Kenny?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m hoping he won’t be there. I just thought I’d take a look at his doormat on my way out of town. Just in case there’s red paint there.”
Rachel looked reluctant, but I guess she didn’t want to outright lie—she knew I knew where the condo was, and that I’d go there whether she tried to dissuade me or not—so she admitted that yes, Kenny (and now Daniel too) were still living in the small two-bedroom condo on Hillsboro Pike.
“They’re sinking every dime they have into the bar.
The condo is free other than the HOA fees and property taxes.
Kenny would be stupid to move somewhere else. ”
“I’m just glad you haven’t moved Daniel into your house,” I said honestly.
“It’s early days for that,” Rachel answered. “Now go, and stop bothering me.”
She turned to the computer. I said goodbye and headed out the door.
Kenny’s condo is on Hillsboro Pike, in a nice location just on the outskirts of Green Hills, although the complex itself has seen better days.
It’s mostly populated by young professionals who go to work during the day.
I cruised through the mostly empty parking lot at a slow pace, looking for Kenny’s white Bronco.
It wasn’t in his assigned spot, or anywhere else I could see.
I parked in a visitor’s space off to the side and walked across the lot and up the stairs to his second-floor unit.
The stairs and landing were pristine. No red paint spatters, no drips, no evidence that anyone had been carrying a paint can up or down recently.
And while Kenny’s doormat was anything but pristine, none of the stains on it looked like red paint.
The mat clearly wasn’t new either, so it wasn’t like he had replaced it last night or this morning to hide any evidence.
On my way back to the car, I even stuck my head into the dumpster near his building—holding my breath the whole time—but with nothing to show for my sacrifice but the sight of bulging trash bags and soiled pizza boxes and other garbage.
Of course, that didn’t prove anything. Absence of evidence wasn’t evidence of absence, as I’d told Zach the other days. Kenny could have cleaned up meticulously, or disposed of the can somewhere else entirely. The fact that there was no red paint here didn’t mean that Kenny wasn’t guilty.
Still, it was disappointing. It would have been nice to know at least one thing for certain.
I got back into the Lexus and pointed it toward Bellevue, while I wondered where I might be able to park near Mrs. Miller’s duplex without being too obvious about it. From what I could remember, the neighborhood wasn’t the sort that made surveillance easy.
And indeed, as soon as I turned onto Nick’s street, I knew my efforts were doomed.
It was residential, quiet, with neat houses and tidy yards.
There was nowhere inconspicuous to lurk.
No coffee shops or convenience stores with parking lots, no parks or public spaces.
Just houses, driveways, and the very occasional car parked at the curb.
I drove past the duplex slowly. The crime scene tape was still there. Nick’s truck, too—I guess the police hadn’t needed it as evidence.
I turned the corner and pulled to the curb, thinking. At night, I could park in someone’s driveway and claim car trouble if anyone asked. But in broad daylight, with people home, that seemed like a recipe for getting the police called on me. Again.
My phone rang. “I just wanted to update you,” Zachary said when I’d greeted him. “I’m in the Taco Bell parking lot, with eyes on the Body Shop. Everything looks normal.”
“Really?”
“Well, as normal as it can be. The bay doors are open, people are working. Sal’s here—I saw him walk in just now. Megan, too.” He paused. “Looks like they put up a flier in the front window. It’s got Nick’s picture on it.”
“A memorial?”
“Or donations for the funeral. I can’t read it from here, but there’s definitely a photo of Nick and some text underneath.”
“Anything suspicious?”
“If you mean any sign of the mob or of the police, then no. It’s business as usual, but everyone looks upset. Sal looks like he’s aged ten years over the weekend.”
Not surprising, if Jacquie had been right about his relationship with Nick. Then again, it could be guilt as easily as grief.
“Keep watching,” I told him. “Let me know if anything changes.”
“Will do. What about you?”
“I’m outside Nick’s place, and there’s nowhere to park, so I’m going to have to think of something else. But I stopped by Kenny’s, and there was no sign of red paint outside his place.”
“Let me know if you want to trade places.”
“So you can drive around with nothing to do instead? Just stay where you are, Zach. You’ve got a job. Stick with it.”
We hung up, and I sat there for a moment, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
Coco Miller. Sal Gomorra. Jacquie Demetros. And Kenny.
Those were the suspects, in addition to the mob, and I was leaving Izzy Spataro and Gio Abruzzi to Mendoza and Megan. I wasn’t getting paid enough to tackle them.
Jacquie was at the bottom of the list due to having hired us.
Zachary had Sal and the Body Shop covered.
Mrs. Miller’s house was a bust for now—I’d have to come back after dark if I wanted to watch it properly.
Kenny wasn’t home, and it would do me no good to sit and watch his empty apartment.
And if Kenny was in East Nashville with Daniel, working on the bar, staring at those papered-over windows wouldn’t do me any good, either. But Sal’s house...
Sal was at the Body Shop. Which meant his house in Pegram was empty.
I thought about the five-car garage, the No Trespassing sign with its shotgun silhouette, the long gravel driveway.
Going there was a terrible idea. Trespassing on a potential murder suspect’s property, especially when he had a sign (with a picture of a gun) specifically warning people not to trespass. Mendoza would kill me if he found out.
Then again, Mendoza didn’t have to know.
I was just putting the Lexus back in gear when a sharp rap on the window made me jump.
Mrs. Miller stood beside my car, bent at the waist to peer in at me, one hand raised to knock again.
I rolled down the window. “Hello again, Mrs. Miller.”
“I thought that was you, dear.” Her voice was friendly, but her eyes were sharp. “Sitting out here all by yourself. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee? It’s the least I can do after you found poor Nick.”
My first instinct was to decline. It wouldn’t be the first time an elderly woman had tried to poison me, nor the second or third, really.
But then again, this was an opportunity to get a look inside the other half of the duplex.
Maybe I could determine whether she really had had a reason to want to get rid of Nick, or at least we could talk about who Mrs. Miller suspected.
After five years, she ought to have a pretty good idea about Nick’s private life.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said. “I’d love to.”
Mrs. Miller beamed and stepped back so I could open the door.