If I Had A Nickel (Roy Ballard Mysteries Book 3) Page 7

  Mia grunted as she continued her own search.

  “Who leaves their phone in the car?” I said. “Especially when you’re out hiking.”

  There wasn’t much more to the article, and I saw no indication that Glenda’s death had ever been considered suspicious, either then or later.

  I closed my browser and opened the photo I’d taken of the for-sale sign at Max Dunn’s house. The realtor was named Kiersten Stanley and her cell number was included on the sign. I sent a short text: Saw your name on the sign at Max Dunn’s. Need a realtor to show me a house in Tarrytown. Interested?

  She didn’t reply right away, so I slipped my phone into my pocket.

  “Are we way off in the weeds on this?” I asked. “I mean, even if Alicia and Cole had something going on, that doesn’t mean either of them stole the coin collection. I feel like we’re on a wild goose chase.”

  Mia was too focused on her laptop to respond.

  “Which raises a question: Are wild geese particularly elusive?”

  Mia wasn’t listening.

  I lapsed into my best Marlin Perkins. “While I remain in the comfort of the vehicle, Jim wades through a marsh in search of the ever-crafty wild goose.”

  Finally, Mia raised her head. “What are you babbling about?”

  “I think we need to step back for a second and take a fresh look at the case. I feel like we’re spinning our wheels. I am overwhelmed, quite frankly, and I’d prefer to simply be whelmed.”

  She looked at me, then looked at her laptop again. “Then you might not want to know what I just found.”

  “Ah, man,” I said. “What is it? No, wait. Don’t tell me. You’re probably right.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. It’s probably not relevant anyway.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Of course I am.”

  She waited.

  “Okay,” I said. “Go ahead.”

  “Max Dunn filed for bankruptcy seven months ago.”

  “Well, crud,” I said. “Of course he did. Why should he be the one person without a motive?”

  “Chapter 11,” Mia said, scrolling downward, “although to be honest, I don’t really understand the difference between the chapters. Don’t know if it really matters here.”

  “Chapter 11 is reorganization,” I said. “And when an individual chooses that chapter, instead of chapter 13, it means he has a boatload of debt. Like more than half a million, I think.”

  “Okay. Bottom line is, he’s broke, and I’d guess that’s why he’s really selling his house.”

  “Which means he’s a liar,” I said.

  “That might be a bit harsh,” Mia said. “In the scheme of things, it was a white lie to avoid embarrassment. He seemed like a decent guy to me.”

  “But I want to impugn his character, so I can leap to conclusions about his involvement with the coin collection.”

  She kept reading, but apparently found nothing more worth sharing.

  I was restless. I always got this way when we were making no discernible progress on a case, or when there were so many forks in the road.

  Too many suspects.

  I stood up and walked to one of the windows facing east. I could see Mia’s next-door neighbor Regina working in her garden between the two houses. What do you grow this time of year in central Texas? I had no idea. Mosquitoes?

  Serenity Sweet.

  Callie Dunn.

  Cole Dunn.

  Max Dunn.

  Leo Pitts.

  Alicia Potter.

  Too many suspects.

  Maybe Regina had a sixth sense, because she turned and saw me watching through the window. She gave me a small wave and a warm smile. I waved back. This was a woman who had saved Mia’s home by extinguishing the flames when an arsonist had tried to burn the place down. A hero. I’d sent her flowers at the time, and it still didn’t seem like enough. I moved away from the window and let Regina go about her business without me watching over her shoulder.

  “Let’s brainstorm,” Mia said.

  I sat back down.

  “You storm first,” I said.

  “Max Dunn seemed to know a decent amount about hobo nickels, and I’m guessing the other kids did, too. Don’t you think they’d understand that the coins would be hard to sell because they’re so easy to identify?”

  I was nodding. “I reached that conclusion myself, but look at Leo Pitts. He sold one.”

  “But we don’t know if it was stolen,” she reminded me.

  Sometimes you’re trying so hard to see the big picture, you forget the smaller details.

  “Damn you and your facts,” I said.

  It was hot today, so Mia was once again wearing a sleeveless top, showing off her well-defined arms. The self-defense technique known as Krav Maga had become a regular part of her routine, and it was amazing what the exercise had done for her fitness—and her confidence. I wouldn’t mess with her.

  “My point,” she said, “is that anybody who knew how hard they’d be to sell probably wouldn’t have stolen them. Either that or, as we discussed, the theft was a cover for the murder, and they never had any intention of selling the coins.”

  “But that doesn’t make much sense anymore, considering what I learned from Ruelas. The theft might’ve been a good cover if the killer wanted to make it look like an interrupted burglary. But it was a poisoning. A surprised burglar doesn’t poison anybody.”

  Sometimes you’re so focused on the details, you forget the bigger picture.

  “Damn you and your facts,” she said.

  We sat quietly for several moments. The air conditioner had shut off for a few minutes, and I could hear the scrape of Regina’s gardening tools in the soil outside.

  “But I think you’re right about the first part,” I said. “The thief probably didn’t know the coins would be hard to unload without getting busted. That, or they were so desperate, they were willing to take a gamble.”

  “You’re referring to Cole?”

  “Not necessarily, although he falls in that category. Maybe Max does too, depending on just how bad his finances are.”

  “But not Callie,” Mia said. “As far as we know.”

  “Right. And Alicia is the wild card,” I said. “I would think she’d know as much about hobo nickels as the kids do, so she wouldn’t have stolen them. Assuming this theory we’re working on is correct.”

  “I hate to say it, but that leaves Serenity Sweet,” Mia said. “She probably didn’t know much about the coins, except that they were valuable.”

  I try to avoid making decisions based on a gut feeling alone—because your gut will lead you astray—but my gut had told me from the beginning that Serenity had not stolen the coins. She just did not seem like a thief. Of course, that’s the best disguise for a thief—not seeming like one.

  “Don’t forget Leo Pitts,” I said.

  He seemed like a much more viable candidate.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m guessing the Evil One has made his life miserable by now.”

  I was referring to Ruelas, and Mia knew that without asking.

  “We could ask him,” she said.

  “Leo or Ruelas?” I said.

  “Ruelas.”

  “You could ask him,” I said.

  Ruelas might’ve been forthcoming with me last night, but in general, Mia had much better luck getting information from him, especially when he didn’t owe us anything. He had a soft spot for Mia, and had in fact asked her out once. She managed to turn him down without pissing him off.

  “Want me to?” she said, holding her phone up.

  “Sure.”

  She dialed and, yes, he answered. He rarely let it go to voicemail when he saw her name on the caller ID. She hadn’t put the call on speakerphone—again, because he would be more cooperative if he didn’t know I was around—so I could only hear her side of the conversation.

  “Great, and you?” she said. Bubbly. Warm. Like two friends who had gone too long
without talking.

  Short pause.

  “That’s sweet,” she said.

  Pause.

  “I do, yes, if you don’t mind. I was just wondering if there was anything you could tell me about this guy Leo Pitts.”

  Longer pause. Mia nodded and murmured “Uh huh” every now and then.

  Then she said, “Well, okay. Thank you.”

  She didn’t seem particularly jazzed by what he had told her.

  “I am, yes. His name is Garlen.”

  What a sleaze. Prying into her personal life.

  “He does. Very much so. We went to the San Antonio Zoo yesterday.”

  He said something that made her laugh, and she looked at me.

  “That’s what I said! How funny. But we know that isn’t true. Roy is all man.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay, well, thanks again. I appreciate it.” She disconnected the call and said, “Pitts admitted he didn’t get the coin from a garage sale. He said Cole gave him the coin to pay back a loan. Ruelas suspected it was a drug thing, but Pitts wouldn’t admit to that, and Ruelas didn’t get anything else out of him. He said he can’t get a warrant for Pitts’s place based on what he has right now, and since nobody can prove the coin was stolen... ”

  “He can’t charge Pitts with receiving stolen property,” I said.

  “Nope.”

  About what I expected. I’d rather solve the case without his help anyway.

  “What was the bit that made you laugh?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You laughed about something and told him you’d said the same thing.”

  “Oh. I mentioned the zoo and he asked if I’d seen your relatives, the chimps. Kind of funny that we made the same joke.”

  “Hilarious,” I said.

  “Hey, don’t worry. You heard what I said—that you’re all man.” She was being playfully patronizing.

  “It’s true, you know,” I said.

  “I’m sure it is, Roy. I’m sure it is.”

  She was looking at me with that expression on her face again—the one that said her silly comments were sincere, and that I was the world’s biggest idiot for not acknowledging the connection between us. Was I misreading it? I had to be. She was just naturally a warm and affectionate person, and I shouldn’t mistake friendship for something more. I could ruin everything that way. If I made a move and learned I was wrong, that could create an awkward tension that would ruin our partnership.

  But she was still holding my gaze—holding it, holding it—until I lost my nerve and looked away, like an intimidated high school boy.

  13

  Shortly before six o’clock that evening, back at my apartment, I received a text reply from Kiersten Stanley, Max Dunn’s realtor.

  I’d love to. When? Which house?

  I thought about it. Was I really prepared to move forward with this? Big step. But it wouldn’t hurt to look, right? As Mia had said, that’s what realtors are supposed to do—show houses.

  On Raleigh. My schedule is flexible.

  I took a gulp from the ice-cold Lone Star longneck resting on the coffee table.

  Short notice, but I’m free tonight. How about one hour from now?

  “The great thing about this house,” she said as she swung the front door open, “is that it has the feel of classic Austin, but it has been maintained and upgraded all along. The plumbing and electrical were overhauled a few years ago, so there’s no worries there. The foundation is solid, and of course you can’t beat the neighborhood.”

  Kiersten Stanley was a petite blond woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in gray slacks and a red blouse. She was wearing flats and couldn’t have stood more than five feet tall. Attractive, with sparkling blue eyes and great dimples. She had sort of a Kristin Chenoweth vibe going on, which was most definitely not a bad thing.

  “Did they finally catch the serial killer in this area?” I asked as I followed her into the house.

  That threw her for about half a second, and then she laughed. “I understand he was offed by one of the neighborhood gangs.”

  The house was empty. I hadn’t realized the owners weren’t living there anymore. The air was thick and musty, because the air conditioner had not been running. The interior was, simply put, gorgeous. Hardwood floors throughout. Great fixtures. Fresh paint on the walls in subtle but attractive colors. Crown molding.

  “How old is the AC system?” I asked.

  “Replaced last year.”

  She had obviously boned up on the highlights of the home in the hour before we met.

  “What about the roof?”

  “New shingles three years ago. The place really needs nothing. It’s good to go, as is.”

  I stepped into the kitchen. Small, but functional. Stainless steel appliances.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “And all brand new.”

  We followed a hallway past two small bedrooms, and then into the master bedroom. I looked around.

  “Is there a dungeon?”

  “Sorry, there isn’t. You know how hard it is to dig in this area. It was cost-prohibitive.”

  “Max has a dungeon,” I said. “Such a nice feature.”

  She kept rolling with it. “How long have you known Max?” she asked.

  Old habit: I checked for a wedding ring and saw that she didn’t have one.

  “Actually, I just met him today. Some business stuff. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah, but more like a big brother. I’ve been friends with his sister Callie since we were kids. Max even took me to my senior prom because I didn’t have a date.”

  “That,” I said, “tells me every other boy in your school was an idiot.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That’s very sweet.”

  She was blushing.

  We moved down the hallway, back into the living room.

  “It’s a great house,” I said.

  “It is,” she said. “This will sound like a sales pitch, but it’ll go fast.”

  “I believe you.”

  “The schools would be Casis, O Henry, and Austin High,” she said. “If you have kids.”

  “No kids,” I said.

  She nodded. “Me, neither.”

  I looked around one last time. “Hell of a lot nicer than my apartment.”

  “I bet. Any concerns? Questions?”

  “Maudie’s is right down the street. Want to grab something to eat?”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Were you close with Cole Dunn?” I asked.

  “Not so much,” she said. “He ran with a different crowd. I hadn’t seen him in years. I wish I could say it was a shock the way he went, but I knew he’d been having problems for several years.”

  I could tell she wasn’t enjoying this topic, so I let it drop.

  “How long have you been looking for a place?” she asked.

  “Not long. Just started.”

  Maudie’s was crowded, as usual, and the food was tasty. Can’t beat basic Tex-Mex.

  “How many homes have you looked at?” she asked.

  “Actually, just the one.”

  “Really? Well, you started with a good one.”

  “I think so, but that no-dungeon thing is really holding me back.”

  “Who can blame you? And what sort of activities do you participate in that require a dungeon?”

  I like a woman who enjoys playing along.

  “A little of this, a little of that,” I said.

  “Interesting.”

  “It can be.”

  “Let me ask you a question.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “At this point, are we on a date, or is this a realtor buying a client dinner?”

  “Do I get to make that decision?”

  “You do.”

  “You don’t have a boyfriend?” I said.

  “Nope.”

  “Hard to believe.”

  “I had a somewhat unpleasant break-up not long ago,
and now I’m just having fun.”

  “Then I’d say this is a date.”

  “I was hoping you’d go that way. In that case, I think I might have a second margarita.”

  I signaled for our waiter.

  Afterwards, as we went to her condo on the 28th floor of a high-rise in downtown Austin, I got the sense that she was not in the habit of bringing men back to her place. She fidgeted nervously on the long elevator ride, and there was a self-consciousness about her as we kissed in the small entry foyer.

  The kisses started slow and light and gradually got more intense.

  If she wanted to slow the pace down, she’d pull back and offer me a drink or say she needed to use the bathroom. She did neither of those things.

  I began to unbutton her blouse and she whispered into my ear, “I guess you know this means I can’t be your realtor.”

  “At the moment, I’m fine with that.”

  I removed her blouse and placed it on a nearby credenza. Her bra, like her blouse, was red—made from satin fabric, with a small bit of decorative lace trim in the center.

  She began to unbuckle my belt. The condo smelled faintly like vanilla, perhaps from a candle that had burned earlier in the day. Music played quietly from a stereo she had left on in her absence.

  She reached for my zipper just as I unclasped her bra.

  It was the most enjoyable evening I’d had in a long time.

  14

  Mia called at eight o’clock the next morning.

  “I just got an email from Daniel Ivy asking if we have time for a case.”

  “What kind of case?”

  “Construction worker with a neck injury. Another guy on the crew told the supervisor that the guy is faking it.”

  I was somewhat envious. This would be a straightforward case that would require only one person, and that person would be Mia, because she had been handling Daniel Ivy as a client for the past year or so.

  “You should take it,” I said.

  “You sure?”