Body in the Antique Trunk-A Lady Locksmith Mystery Page 4

  One guy was down, he’d found Goldie weeks ago and taken him out. Buddy knew in his mind the man was dead, yet the young punk refused to stay down, he still stalked him in his dreams. When would it end?

  He remembered the night he’d found Goldie in a local bar. He’d been dressed in tattered clothes that looked like they’d come from Goodwill. Hoping to get him a bit drunk, Buddy had bought him a couple of drinks, telling the barkeep to say they were from a friend. Goldie must have been pretty hard up, because he hadn’t questioned the gift at all, just guzzled down the whiskey like he hadn’t had any for a while.

  Keeping out of sight, he’d kept watch until Goldie had left the bar. He hadn’t had a vehicle, just wandered toward the old house on the edge of Middleton. It was dark and appeared unoccupied, but Goldie had glanced around, then slipped inside the back door.

  Buddy waited a bit, but no lights came on and he saw no one else. Using his flashlight, he checked out the garage, finding it mostly empty except for a lot of bags and boxes of trash. Deciding the place was vacant except for Goldie, he’d waited a while, then tried the back door. He couldn’t believe his luck when he had found it unlocked.

  Making sure his gun was loaded and ready, Buddy had slipped inside.

  Goldie was eating a peanut butter sandwich at the kitchen table, an old kerosene lamp the only light in the dingy room.

  “Who…who are you?” He’d sputtered, staring at the gun, his blue eyes wide and frightened.

  Buddy had laughed disbelievingly. “Goldie, you killed three of us Bears. You know very well who I am, you lousy Lion. I swore I’d get you all, didn’t I? Tonight, it’s your turn.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t kill anyone, not even in the war in Iraq. I was just a truck driver, hauling supplies. Who’s Goldie? My name’s George Janders.”

  “You can pretend to be this George fella all you want, it doesn’t fool me. I don’t forget a face. Is that your cover here in Minnesota?”

  “It’s no cover, man. I’m just a poor guy. I don’t have any money, except my monthly disability check. It doesn’t stretch too far with rents the way they are. You’d better find some rich guy to rob.”

  “Don’t give me that, you miserable coward. I’ve been looking for you for a long time. Where’s the rest of your Chicago gang? Are they here in Minnesota, too?”

  “What Chicago gang? I’m not pretending anything. I never even lived in Chicago. You must be nuts. Put that gun away.”

  “Fat chance, Goldie!”

  “I’m not Goldie! I’m just a homeless guy. I came back from Iraq and haven’t found a job. I’ve just been staying here for the last week or so. I found it empty, so didn’t think anyone would care if I slept here. If this is your house, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

  “Tell me where the other Lions are. I’ve found Drummer, where are Jonesy and Hatchet?”

  “You’re nuts, you know that? Were you in Iraq, too? Lots of guys came back with mental problems. You should go to the VA hospital in Minneapolis; they’ll help you get your head straight again, man.”

  “I don’t need no doctor, damn it. You’re the one who’s got a problem. Tell me where the others are.”

  Goldie had started trembling and put up his hands. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I never saw you before in my life, so how could I know who you want me to tell you about?”

  “God damn you, you asked for it!”

  And Buddy had put a couple of bullets in him. He’d cleaned up the blood with some paper towels, then made a quick search of the house with his flashlight but not found anything related to their Chicago past. He gasped when he saw the antique cupboard. Drummer, one of the Lions, loved antiques and collected them. Was this a sign Goldie had made connection with Drummer here in Minnesota? But he couldn’t find anything else connecting them.

  Worried someone had heard the shots, he wiped his fingerprints off the back doorknob, the only thing he could remember touching. Then he’d found a large garbage bag and stuffed the body in it, in case anyone saw him take it outside. He dragged Goldie’s body out to the garage. The man was heavier than he looked and Buddy was out of breath and bloody by the time he’d gotten him there. He stuffed him into the big trunk he’d found earlier and covered the trunk with as many bags and boxes of the trash as he could. Under cover of darkness, he’d looked around. The neighborhood was quiet, so probably no one had heard the shots. He’d driven out of town and picked up a road kill fawn he’d seen earlier, then come back late that night and snuck it into the garage. In this heat, the body would soon stink. If anyone noticed the smell and looked in the garage, they’d think the stink was the fawn. He’d slipped back down the street to where he’d left his old blue sedan and driven off to the Twin Cities to get lost in the crowds.

  Now he realized he should have gone back then to do a better search for anything Goldie might have left behind that night. But he’d been so shook up, all he’d thought of was getting far away. From the messy look of the house, no one had cleaned it yet, so maybe Goldie’s stuff was still there. It was worth another look, if he could just get in again. Maybe a back window would work, if she’d put on new locks on the doors. Realty companies didn’t usually bother with windows, just doors.

  Buddy sighed, feeling frustrated. He knew another one of that gang was close by, the one they’d used to call ‘Drummer.’ He’d seen him in a café over in Canton this morning. He was older now, and no longer looked so tough and mean. But it was him; no doubt about it. He had an unusual hairline and wide forehead, though he no longer wore a beard. He used another name now, too. Buddy had heard the man’s friends call him by it. Drummer had always loved antiques; he hadn’t given them up. He must be in hiding here from the Bears, using the new identity as a disguise. Buddy knew it was Drummer; he wouldn’t get away with that with him, no more than Goldie had.

  Damn Goldie, anyway. He’d claimed he didn’t even know Buddy, didn’t have any beef with him. Ha! Fat chance of that. Claimed he was someone else. What a crock! He must have gone soft since Buddy had last seen him; wanted to pretend the past was gone and they could just forget the whole fucking feud. Yeah, right. Where were the rest of the Lions now? Were they in hiding, too? Yellow-bellied cowards. They wouldn’t get away with it. He’d see to it.

  He’d taken Goldie out, he’d take care of Drummer, and then he’d find the others. He’d just have to keep on looking until he did. They’d always kept in touch with each other, so there had to be some connections, if he could just find them. He had to get back into Goldie’s house and search it better. There had to be some clues there. Goldie wasn’t real smart. He’d probably slipped up and left some clue behind as to the others’ whereabouts. A letter, a picture, some address, a phone number, something.

  He’d keep looking until he found that connection, then he’d follow the lead until he’d killed them all off, one at a time. They’d proved they weren’t so tough when they weren’t all together. So one at a time was the way he’d take care of them.

  Then maybe the awful dreams would stop. Maybe then this valley would stop haunting him and he could leave and find a safe new place to live, far away, maybe someplace sunny and warm, like Arizona or California. He hated snow and ice and this area had way too much of it in the winter. Yes, he’d go somewhere warm. When his work here was done.

  He found a cold beer from his cooler, sat on the bunk and stared out into the starlit night, making his plans. He rubbed at the cat scratches on his arm, then got up and found some more antibiotic cream to put on them. That darned cat had come out of nowhere when he was searching the locksmith’s house. Hissing and scratching like a wild creature. He’d had to get the heck out of there. Never knew a cat to act like that. Now his arm looked like it was getting infected. Damned cat.

  Mosquitos buzzed in the hot, summer night air and thunder rumbled in the distance. Off to the eastern skyline, he could see dark clouds rolling in, beginning to obscure the stars.

  He tr
ied to remember the life back in Chicago. He remembered his friends and most of his enemies, the ones they’d all sworn to kill on sight to revenge the ones who’d died in the last big fight. He needed help, but he had no idea where the rest of The Bears were now. He’d lost track while he was in the hospital for so long after the car accident six months ago. None of his friends had come to see him. But that was okay, he knew they were afraid either the police or their rivals might be watching the hospital for them. Details were hazy, now. He remembered some of the rival gang members’ names, others eluded him.

  Must be the result of the head injury. The doctors had said he’d have some memory loss, but he’d thought it would only be temporary. He’d always had a rugged, healthy body, so had expected to heal up just fine this time too. Maybe it was just taking longer for his head to clear and his memory to come back to normal. He’d just have to be patient. He sighed again, sipping his beer. He’d never had much patience.

  Chapter 4

  The next afternoon at Alfred’s Antiques in Canton, Alfred Anderson carefully stowed the wrapped painting that gray haired Martha Hawkins had purchased in her car. He waited while the stout old lady got behind the wheel, then waved a cheery goodbye to her and watched to see that her old Ford jalopy started.

  She was one of his favorite customers. The dear, sweet lady would spend hundreds on paintings for the walls in her home, but hated to pay out money repairing her old car. He’d have to try again to convince her to take it to the mechanic. It would be a shame for her to be stuck along a road in the country when the old thing quit on her.

  Now, she smiled and waved as she pulled away from the curb. Alfred waved again before going back inside his store and closing and locking the door. As he put up the closed sign, he noticed the street lights were coming on already. Thank goodness it was now April and they’d soon get more hours of sunlight. He hated the darkness of winter days. Rubbing his beefy hand over his bald head, he sighed.

  Lately, the days seemed longer and longer. He was often tired before he was halfway through the hours the store was open, had even fallen asleep at his desk after lunch today. Maybe it was about time to retire, as his kids kept telling him. But what would he do to pass the time? He glanced around his neat shop, filled from wall to wall with rows of shelving packed with antiques of every description, from glassware and silverware to old farm tools. Paintings from famous artists of yesteryear hung on the walls. This place was his life. He had no other hobbies.

  He totaled out the cash register, pulled out the money tray, turned down the main store lights to their night status, and started to his small office in the back to count the day’s receipts. He’d take the money to the bank and head over to the Flame for some supper. His stomach growled in hunger.

  He trudged back around the tall counter to the door to his office, but stopped, frowning. Hadn’t he left the office light on? A shadow from the night light circled in front of him, warning him of someone behind him. A cold shiver of fear raced through him as he turned to see who was there. Pain echoed through his head. The cash drawer crashed to the floor and he fell onto it as everything went black.

  ***

  Chance had hoped to get back to work on the Body in the Trunk case, but had barely settled at his desk with a cup of coffee the next morning when the sheriff interrupted.

  Ben leaned his tall frame against Chance’s office door. “What the hell is going on in this county anyway?”

  Chance looked up and frowned at seeing the upset expression on Ben’s face. He picked up his coffee and downed a fortifying gulp of the hot brew. A shiver of dread ran through him. “What now?”

  “Another murder,” Ben said, rubbing a long finger along his crooked nose. “For criminy sakes, we haven’t had one in years, now all of a sudden there’s two in one week?”

  Chance gulped more coffee, put down his cup and rose. Office work would have to wait. “Where this time?”

  “Alfred’s Antiques, over on the west side of town. You know Alfred?”

  “Of course. He comes into the Flame for coffee with the guys all the time. What happened?”

  “He didn’t show up for coffee this morning as he usually does, so a couple of the guys went down to his shop to see why not. They found him in his office, dead.”

  Worry made Chance’s heart pound. Two murders so close together in their county? Were these cases connected? Or was the timing only a coincidence? “You want me to take this one, too?”

  Ben straightened and muttered. “Yeah. I hate to pile both on you, Chance, but you know we don’t have anyone else qualified. If you need help, I can call in somebody from the state…”

  Chance picked up his jacket and pulled it on. “I’ll let you know if I need help. Is someone there already, securing the site?”

  “Yeah, I sent Tom and Roger over, and I called the M E. I’ll go with you, too. I’ll take my own wheels, so I can come back to man the office. I’m sure the press will be hounding us.”

  Chance nodded and they headed for their cars. Sirens blaring, they drove to the scene. A crowd of onlookers stood around the sidewalk outside, chatting and watching everything going on.

  Tom was stringing yellow crime scene tape across the doorway, but held it aside to let them inside the building. “He’s back in the office,” Tom told them.

  Chance nodded, and said, “Find out if any of these people know anything.”

  Tom nodded. “I’m on it.”

  Chance and Ben went back to the office. Chance looked around the store as they walked through. “Nice place,” he said. “Don’t think I’ve ever been in here before.”

  Ben nodded. “Alfred took a lot of pride in this place. He practically lived here.”

  “No family?”

  “Not close. His first wife died about ten years ago. Cancer. Their kids are scattered around the country, all have good jobs and families of their own, now. Married again, but that didn’t last very long. She split a couple of years ago.”

  “I see.”

  Alfred lay sprawled on the floor just inside the office, face up, obviously dead. Blood pooled in a dark splotch on the floor under his head. His nose was bloody and his bent glasses hung off to one side. The metal drawer to his cash register lay almost empty to one side of him. Scattered coins decorated the dark green carpet. Farther inside, a file cabinet hung open, with a smear of blood along one side. Chance pointed at the blood. “Wonder if that’s Alfred’s blood or the perp’s? Have to test it.”

  “Could be either one, I suppose. Send it to the lab,” Ben agreed.

  Papers were scattered over the floor beneath the open drawer, as though someone had searched through it and tossed what he didn’t want onto the floor.

  Chance surveyed the scene, pulled out his camera and began taking pictures. “From the looks of Alfred’s face, I’d say he fell forward, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, how else would he have bent his glasses and bloodied his nose? Probably, the perp turned him over, maybe to get at the money?”

  “Probably,” Chance agreed. “If he was hit from behind and was carrying that cash register tray, it would have ended up under him. So the perp would have had to roll him off of it to get at the money.”

  “Looks like that to me, too.”

  “Did he have any employees?”

  Ben shrugged. “Not that I know of. When he wanted time off, he usually just put up a sign saying when he’d be back and closed the store.”

  “So, when we’re done here, where do you want the body taken?”

  “To the M E. I’ve ordered the van to come here to get it. Dr. Lans said he wants to see the body.”

  “Okay. I’ll send it in to his office for the autopsy, then. That should tell us more than we can learn here.”

  “This office is a mess. Wonder what the perp was searching for. Alfred was always such a neat guy.”

  Chance glanced sharply at Ben. “I wonder what the heck he’d be looking for in here? Records of a sale of something may
be?”

  “Who knows? I doubt Alfred kept any money here, other than in the cash register. He’d probably make a nightly run to the bank.”

  Chance nodded. “That’s what most businessmen do. They pay for everything by check or credit cards to have a record of it. Most don’t like dealing in cash.”

  Ben hung back, letting Chance and the deputies do their job. But his sharp brown eyes missed nothing. He leaned his long, angular frame against the door jam, watching. “Any idea as of the time of death?”

  “Until we get the ME’s report, I think we can assume the time of death from the scene here, don’t you?” Chance asked.

  “How’s that?” The sheriff glanced at him, frowning.

  “You knew him better than I did. He was pretty set in his ways, wasn’t he?”

  Ben rubbed the side of his crooked nose. “True. Alfred always closed up at 5:30 p.m. Then he’d go to the bank and go to the Flame for supper around 6:30 or so. Since the cash drawer is lying there on the floor, I’m assuming he didn’t have time to do his deposit before someone attacked him.”

  Chance nodded. “Yeah, that sounds logical. I’d say he didn’t know someone was waiting for him back here. Maybe they hid inside earlier. Then he locked up, and brought the money back here, thinking he was alone.”

  “Hmm. Yeah, that sounds right. Dr. Lans will check to see whether he’d already eaten when he does the autopsy.”

  “True,” Chance said. “But that’ll take a couple of days. In the meantime, I’ll ask at the bank to see if he made his night deposit. And at the Flame to see if he ate there last night. He could have worked late and gone to eat before doing his paperwork, you know.”

  Ben shrugged. “True. I never knew Alfred to vary his routine, but there’s always a first time, I suppose.”

  Chance’s questions at the bank and the Flame got the answers he’d expected. Alfred hadn’t been there today, nor had he put a deposit in the night depository box at the bank as they confirmed he usually did. He hadn’t appeared at the Flame for supper with his buddies last night as he usually did. A couple of them, Larry and Frank, were still sitting in the Flame since breakfast, not wanting to miss any detail as people learned of it.