Hit and Nun Page 6

  “King, this steed of steel? Might I ask, dost thou mean a motor vehicle?”

  “Boom-booom!” he bellowed, loud and raspy, his voice echoing along the street as he waved his pretend sword to and fro.

  There was that tingle again. The one that said I was on to something. “So, are you saying someone hit him with the steed made of steel, my liege?” I asked, as I heard voices coming closer from the other end of the street.

  “Is that what this fine chap’s saying?” Tansy asked from behind us, her detective mode in full throttle, startling me with her sudden appearance.

  However, the moment Solomon saw her, he instantly began to retreat, throwing his branch into the shopping cart and gripping the handles—which was unfortunate.

  No matter how many times we’d tried to explain to him that the police only wanted to help in most cases, he simply couldn’t hear us, leading me to believe he’d had a bad experience with law enforcement at one point in his life. If I hoped to find out what that was, it meant time and patience.

  Solomon began to wave his finger in Tansy’s direction with short jabs to the air.

  Translation: he felt threatened.

  “No, no, no! You stay away from me, copper! You’re never gonna lock me up! Hear me? Never ever!” he yelped, latching on to the handle of his shopping cart and giving it a hard shove before he began to disappear into the darkness, off to wherever it was Solomon spent his nights.

  Tansy’s sigh was raspy and loud; she was clearly aggravated by Solomon’s attitude toward her. “You do realize we’ll need to question him after what he said, don’t you, love?” she asked me, her eyes gleaming in the dark.

  I nodded solemnly, knowing how much Solomon was going to hate that. “I do. Do you mind if I’m with him when you do? He’s terrified of anyone with any authority to take him from the streets. He has no one to advocate for him, and I don’t want him so frightened he’ll run off on us again.”

  “Trixie’s right, Tans. Solomon has a penchant for disappearing and forgetting his health in favor of his fears,” Higgs agreed.

  “Well, I’m no bloody monster. Of course you can be there, but he’s not in any trouble. I promise not to use my interrogation tactics on him. No pulling his fingernails off one by one. I give you my word on the Queen’s life.”

  I giggled then placed a hand on her arm to reassure her. “I don’t mean to imply you’d ever hurt him, Tansy. I know you wouldn’t intentionally upset him. But Solomon’s easily spooked. Higgs is as sweet as pie to him, and he still thinks he’s going to lock him in the storage closet at the shelter.”

  Higgs reached down and ran a hand over Jeff’s ears. “She’s right. I’ve known him much longer than Trixie, but he’s bonded with her in a way I can’t seem to achieve. He trusts her as much as he can trust. It’ll be hard enough for you to bring him in for questioning, but to put him in an interrogation room will only agitate him, and you’ll never get what you need then.”

  Tansy looked at us both and smiled. “Is there any particular way to bribe him? Money? Food, perhaps?”

  “Gobstoppers,” we said simultaneously, making Tansy laugh.

  “Then Gobstoppers it is. You have my word I’ll let you know when I’m ready to question him. I’ll send Officer Meadows over for details on Solomon. Now, I must talk to your neighbor across the way and find out if he saw anything.”

  She meant Cyrus Fairmont, who owned a small market across the street. Cyrus was sweet and gentle and about eighty, and he refused to retire, according to his two sons, who both worked with him.

  As Tansy went off to speak to a curious, okay nosy, Cyrus, who stood just beyond the threshold of Inkerbelle’s, one of the officers standing watch over the body approached us. If my estimation was correct, he was easily over six feet and lanky, and probably no older than twenty-five. He had reddish-brown hair, cut short and slicked back on the sides, with a thatch left longish on top that had a penchant for falling over his forehead.

  He sidled up to me, his casual stance and easygoing expression making me comfortable. “Miss Lavender?”

  I smiled up at him, pushing my hands into the pockets of my overalls. “That’s me. How can I help you?”

  “Oh, I know who you are,” he assured in a warm tone.

  I pursed my lips and cocked my head. “You know me? Have we met?”

  He grinned, flashing a set of exceptionally white teeth that were almost perfect but for his incisor, which overlapped the tooth to the right. “No, ma’am. I should say, I know of you. You’re a legend around the station.”

  “Legend?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’re the ex-nun who saved Higgs’s butt. We talked about it at the station for days. I’m Oziah Meadows, by the way, but everybody calls me Oz. I hope you’ll do the same.” He held out a hand, which I took, a little taken aback by the word “legend.”

  Higgs slapped him on the back good-naturedly. “Quit perpetuating the myth, huh? I mean, whose side are you on, anyway?” he joked as Oz reached down and stroked Jeff’s head.

  Putting my arms behind my back, I cracked my knuckles, leaned into Higgs and taunted, “Hear that, ex-undercover police officer, I’m legend.”

  “And super humble,” Higgs replied on a laugh.

  Oz chuckled, his pen hovering over his notepad. “Anyway, I need to get some information on your friend Solomon for Detective Primrose. Maybe the places he frequents—for future reference and availability when he’s questioned. And she wanted me to reassure you once more, she won’t do anything without you there with him.”

  His words warmed my heart. If only I could get Solomon to trust Tansy the way I did. “You sure can. Whatever you need, I’m happy to help. And just call me Trixie, please.”

  The moment Oz opened his mouth, we heard someone cry out in the dark, “Agnar? Agnar, where are you?” The voice was definitely male and strained, rife with worry.

  Both Higgs and I looked at one another. “Agnar?” I repeated—and then realized they were probably referring to the dead man. “I think we’ve found who our dead guy belongs to.”

  “What makes you think he’s Agnar?” Higgs asked, pushing a hand into the pocket of his jeans, his brow furrowed.

  “He’s blond.”

  Higgs’s brow furrowed. “Meaning?”

  “His name is Scandinavian or maybe Swedish—definitely something Nordic.”

  “I don’t get it. Where are you going with that tidbit? Take me with you down this path of supposition. How could you possibly know that, because he’s blond, he’s Scandinavian and he’s this Agnar? “ he asked.

  “Because he’s blond.”

  “Still feeling a little left out, Sister Trixie. Care to explain?”

  “Most people from a Nordic country are blond—really blond—like the dead guy. He’s that white blond. You know, like that supermodel. Um… Elin Nordegren. You know who I mean. She was married to Tiger Woods, the golfer.”

  “You watch golf?”

  Yes. We’d watched golf at the convent, as crazy as that sounds. We have all the amenities everyone else does, like cable TV. We just don’t use them very often simply due to the fact that we’re too tied up with service to our community.

  But everyone needs to de-stress. We did it by watching golf, and we’d loved Tiger Woods, until he did the unthinkable and stepped out on his marriage to the gorgeous Elin. Oh, the uproar that had caused around the convent—and then we’d prayed for his salvation. We didn’t think Sister Catherine Grace, who we were convinced had a crush on Tiger, would ever be the same.

  “You’d be surprised what nuns do. We need downtime, too, and we shower without our clothes on. Crazy, right?”

  “I don’t ever want to think about a nun without her clothes on. It’s unthinkable. But I’ll say it again, you’re not like any nun I’ve ever known, Trixie Lavender.”

  I barked a laugh and squinted my eyes in the direction the voices were coming from.

  Higgs nudged my shoulder with his. “So anyway, wha
t does all that have to do with the dead guy?”

  “Like I said, he’s blond—very blond—and his name is probably Agnar. Agnar is certainly Nordic.”

  Higgs bounced his head and smiled in understanding as he stuck out his fist for a bump. “Nice, Sister Trixie. Well done, if you’re right.”

  I was right. I knew I was right, and while I was busy being right, I was trying not to preen some more, but my cheeks wouldn’t have it. They were beet red and hot.

  Coop appeared from wherever she’d been, reminding me we had a dead body on our hands and as the voices grew louder, calling out Agnar’s name, I worried these people belonged to this man, and they’d see him crumpled on the sidewalk, at his most vulnerable.

  “Officer Meadows? Can we cover him up? I’m afraid this batch of bikers might belong to the dead man. I’d hate for them to see him like that.”

  He peered down at me and smiled gently, but shook his head. “I’m afraid we can’t. Not until forensics clears the scene. But my partner and I can stand in front of him, if that helps.”

  I patted him on the arm and smiled my gratitude. “It does. You’re a prince among men, Officer Meadows. Thank you.”

  “Oz, please, ma’am. Just call me Oz.”

  “Only if you’ll stop calling me ma’am,” I joked, and he laughed as he went to stand in front of the dead man, his likeability factor ratcheting up ten notches.

  “Agnar? Answer me, my man!” a man yelled, getting closer all the time.

  “Coop? Maybe we should get some blankets. Do we have any here at the shop? I’m betting these people are looking for the dead man. I’m also betting they’re as naked as him. That might be uncomfortable in light of the situation.”

  Higgs held up some keys. “Blankets are in the storage closet, Coop. Grab them, would you please?”

  She nodded, and he lobbed the keys to her, leaving us to face the music as the bikers came into view.

  “You ready?” Higgs asked, his fingers brushing mine, concern in his voice.

  Were you ever ready to see the reaction of someone after finding out their loved one had passed? I’ve seen it many times, but it never gets any easier. Yet, I nodded firmly, the sorrow of what was to come, weighing heavy on my heart. “I’m ready.”

  The first of the small cluster of riders to come to a skidding halt was a tall, reed-thin man with dark hair and a moustache.

  He didn’t say a word. He simply hopped off his bike, his flip-flops clapping along the pavement until he came to a full stop at Oz and his partner.

  “Agnar?” he whispered into the night, a raw, hoarse sound emitting from his throat as he peered around the police officers.

  “Do you know this man?” I asked, as Coop stealthily approached with a blanket she threw over his shoulders and tucked around his neck as though he were a child.

  His hands reached for the blanket almost the same time he let out a sob of pain. “Yes…” he said, then cleared his throat as his eyes welled with tears. “Yes. He’s my best friend.”

  Oh, how dreadful. Instantly, my throat tightened up, but Higgs stepped in like a true champ while Tansy was still busy with Cyrus.

  “I’m Cross Higglesworth, and this is Trixie Lavender. Your name is, sir?”

  “Myer. Myer Blackmoore,” he muttered as his eyes appeared to finally focus on Higgs.

  “Please, come sit down and maybe we can talk until the detective comes to officially question you?” I asked, latching on to his rail-thin arm, leading him to the small table and chairs we had just outside the shop’s doors.

  Myer stiffened and shrank against my touch, halting his steps. “Wait! We have to cut Suzanne off at the pass! She’ll be here any second. She wasn’t that far behind me—she’s with the rest of our friends. Oh, no. No, no, no!” he wailed. “She can’t see him like this! This will kill her!”

  “Agnar? Myer?” a husky, sultry voice called, emerging from the dark. “Myer? What’s going on? Talk to me, please!”

  A coppery redhead with wild, curly hair and nothing but her birthday suit on ground to a halt on her ten-speed bike, her alabaster skin glowing in the dark, lit up by our neon Inkerbelle’s sign. This must be Suzanne.

  She trembled as she approached us. “Myer? Where’s Agnar?”

  “Suzanne,” he whispered, snaking a thin hand toward her, but she recoiled and shook her head, as though denying what she was seeing would make it all go away.

  “No!” She hissed the word, putting her hand over her mouth, her fingers shaking. “No, Myer. Tell me that’s not Agnar! Is he dead, Myer? Is he dead?”

  Coop handed me a blanket I immediately flung over Suzanne’s slender shoulders, wrapping my arm around her and tucking her close to me. “Suzanne? My name is Trixie Lavender. I own the shop you’re standing in front of. Would you come with me so we can talk?”

  I know I can get myself into some hot water for talking to someone before the police get their chance, but the ex-nun in me knows no legal boundaries. She was hurting. I wanted to comfort her. It’s ingrained. The heck with the rules.

  As she allowed me to guide her toward the chairs, Knuckles suddenly burst from the shop’s door, his burly body rushing toward us.

  “Suzanne? Is that you?”

  “You know her?” I blurted my astonishment, feeling all manner of fool when I heard how insensitive my question sounded.

  He nodded as though in a daze, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. “Suzanne’s my ex-girlfriend.”

  Chapter 5

  This very young woman was Knuckles’s ex-girlfriend? She didn’t look a day over thirty-five—tops. I didn’t get it. Obviously, judging by the look on Higgs’s face, he didn’t get it, either.

  I tried not to peer at her too closely as she stared at Knuckles, but if she was his age, she looked amazing for fifty-nine. Or maybe it was just the dim lighting of the street lamp. Either way—wowza.

  Suzanne turned away from me then, her lean body graceful and fluid as her blue eyes widened. “Donald? Oh, Donnie, is that really you?” she asked, her voice squeaking in disbelief.

  Knuckles, a.k.a. Donald P. Ledbetter, nodded, his face riddled with concern. He opened his beefy arms and she ran into them, collapsing against his bulky frame with a sob. “He’s dead, Donnie! He’s dead!” she cried in husky sobs.

  As though reading my mind, Coop was there, a box of tissues in hand, pulling the thin pieces of paper out and sliding them into Knuckles’s fist for Suzanne.

  He nodded his thanks, but he didn’t speak a word as he shook Myer’s hand and led Suzanne to the chairs, encouraging her to sit down. “C’mon, Susie-Q. Let’s sit.”

  When she tried to get a glimpse of Agnar, Knuckles cupped her chin and turned her face toward him, blocking out her view of the corpse by rooting his big body in front of her much smaller frame.

  “I’m going to take Jeff back to the shelter, but I’ll be right back. You okay on your own, Sister Trixie?” Higgs asked with a supportive squeeze to my shoulder.

  “I’ll be fine.” Reaching down, I gave Jeff a rub under the chin with a smile. “You be a good boy for Daddy, buddy, and no chewing up shoes. The men at the shelter need them. You can still be a dog and not leave everyone shoeless, mister.”

  In yet another failed effort to be one with the dog, Jeff had chewed up every shoe left at the foot of each shelter bed, leaving some very displeased residents. Boy, had that been some wakeup call.

  Higgs left with Jeff while I continued to watch Knuckles with Suzanne. So calm and gentle, just like the sweet giant he is.

  “I hear this is the victim’s wife?” Tansy asked in a hushed whisper as she approached, and it was one of the things I liked best about her.

  Despite the fact that she was an officer of the law first, she had a heart, and she would allow Suzanne her moment of shock and grief before she pounced with her questions. I’d seen her do it two weeks ago when one of our shop owner neighbors had a death in the family. She’d let them process finding their mother in the parking lot, dead
in her car, before questioning them.

  “Yes. She’s Agnar’s wife,” Myer answered, his eyes glassy, his voice scratchy. “I don’t understand what happened. We lost him a little ways back and we’ve been looking for him ever since. Who did this to him?”

  “What makes you think someone did something to him?” I wondered out loud. My initial thought was he’d had a heart attack, but after talking to Solomon and now hearing Myer, I had to consider.

  His reply was stilted, his eyes heavy with sorrow. “I don’t know what made me say that. I…just…I just…assumed something happened. He’s healthy and in great shape, and all of a sudden he’s dead? It doesn’t make any sense. No sense at all.”

  Tansy looked into his eyes, hers sharp and at the ready. “Would you come with me, Mr…?”

  “Blackmoore. Myer Blackmoore,” he murmured as though in a daze, following Tansy, his shoulders hunched.

  Three more people on bikes came to a stop in front of the shop, exiting their bikes en masse and heading straight for Suzanne, who looked so fragile under the lights of our sign. They closed in on her, crowding Knuckles out.

  Coop and I passed blankets around to them, hovering outside the circle as they consoled their friend. I’d like to say I was altruistic enough not to eavesdrop, but that would be a lie. I was totally eavesdropping. What Myer said had unsettled me and made me decide maybe Agnar hadn’t died of anything natural at all.

  Unfortunately, I was picking up very little in the way of evidence, and only some odds and ends of their conversation could be heard over Suzanne’s sobbing anyway.

  Turning to Knuckles, I grabbed his hand and held it tight. “Are you okay?”

  He patted me on the arm and pulled me close to him. “I’m fine, Trixie girl. Just a little in shock. Haven’t seen Susie-Q in at least twenty-years, and I sure didn’t know she was friends with Myer.”

  I cocked my head and looked up at him. “You know him, too?”

  “He’s who I was talking about, Trixie. Him and his friends from LA. You know, the ones who were coming in for tats? That’s him. He’s a big-time chef turned entrepreneur. Has a bunch of restaurants all over the world.”