Crime and Retribution Page 11

  “Exactly.”

  “No, you won’t,” said Rodrick, the self-proclaimed expert. “You will love my cake, because you’re not a witch. But Mrs. Rinsky?” He giggled. “She’ll hate it!”

  “Hand me that cake,” I said, grabbing Rodrick’s backpack. I searched it thoroughly, but found no cake. So I turned to him. “Where is your cake?”

  He shrugged, putting on his best angelic face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Rodrick, where is that cake?!”

  He rolled his eyes. “Jake has it. He asked his mom to bake it, since she’s such a great cake baker. I just handed him the secret ingredient.” He lowered his voice, as if witches could overhear him. “My pee.”

  “Yes, I got that,” I said. I turned to Calvin. “We’ll just have to have Grandma call Jake’s mom and tell her to confiscate that cake. And ground you for life,” I added, turning to my little brother.

  “I’m doing it for you guys!” Rodrick yelled. “The witches are out to get all of us!”

  “Great job, little buddy,” said Calvin absentmindedly, the fate of Mrs. Rinsky’s stomach apparently not of much concern to him. “So what did you and Munroe talk about last night? I noticed you spent an awfully long time saying your goodbyes.”

  “Oh, this and that,” I said, not wanting to go into details. Especially since Calvin seemed to have developed a particular dislike of the burly cop.

  He glanced over. “Was there kissing involved?”

  “Of course not! Not that it’s any of your business if there was.”

  “So you admit you wanted to kiss him.”

  “No, I don’t. He’s just…” I hesitated

  “He’s just what?”

  “He’s just not as awful as I thought he was.”

  “I knew it,” he said, pounding the steering wheel. “I knew he’d try to twist you around his little finger.”

  “I don’t think he has a little finger, actually,” I said, thinking back to Logan’s strong, powerful hands.

  He gave me a reproachful look. “Your first allegiance is to this family and Diffley & Sons—”

  “Diffley & Daughter.”

  “Whatever! The guy arrested us, remember? And he’ll do it again.”

  “I don’t think so. I think he’s learned his lesson. He even offered me peaceful coexistence.” And a butt bark. I smiled at the recollection.

  “You do know that’s a term from the Cold War, right? A term coined by the Soviet Union to describe their relationship with the West?”

  “So?”

  “So to him we’re the enemy, and he’ll only cooperate because he has to.”

  “I think you’re overthinking this, Calvin. He’s a nice guy.”

  “Oh, my God!” Calvin cried. “You’re falling for him!”

  “I’m not,” I protested. “I just think it would be in our best interests to cooperate with him, not try to antagonize him all the time.”

  “I’m not the one who antagonized him.”

  “You did too. Last night at dinner. You were trying to pick a fight the whole time.”

  “I was trying to pick a fight? I was trying to pick a fight?” His next words were lost to me, as he had trouble getting them out in the right order.

  “I think Calvin is mad,” said Rodrick.

  “I think so too.”

  “I think you made him mad.”

  I grinned. “So I did.”

  “So are you gonna let me give my cake to Mrs. Rinsky?”

  Now it was my turn to scream, “Oh, my God!”

  Chapter 19

  We arrived at the house where Emil and Abigail Piney lived. It was a nice little place just around the corner from Reed Park, in a residential neighborhood. Emil was a short, squat man with horn-rimmed glasses, his wife Abigail a buxom blonde whose hair looked as if it came from a bottle and not Mother Nature. We took a seat in their neat salon, which was quite different from Marelda’s the day before. No smattering of magazines here, or a pleasant mess. Everything was spic and span, and the hardwood floor shone brightly in the morning sunlight. Against the wall, a large portrait of a suffering Jesus hung, looking down on us with mournful eyes.

  “So let me get this straight,” said Emil. “Mariano took out a life insurance policy with Diffley & Sons?” He exchanged a startled look with his wife. “Looks like the boy had some sense after all. So who’s the beneficiary?”

  “At this point in the proceedings we’re reluctant to divulge that information, Mr. Piney,” Calvin lied smoothly. “First we need to determine cause of death.”

  “Murder,” said Abigail primly, her hands neatly placed in her lap. “My dear boy was murdered.” Her voice broke, and Emil took her hand and squeezed it.

  “It’s been hard on all of us, but mostly on my wife,” Emil said. “She loved that boy to death.” He grimaced. “Not the right choice of words, I’m afraid.”

  “Are you aware that Mariana—Mariano had transitioned into a woman?” I asked, deciding that the topic had to be broached sometime.

  Husband and wife shared another look. “Yes,” Abigail said. “We know that Mariano had a brief fling with madness. But that was all behind him. He was transitioning back. Told me over the phone last week that he’d decided being a woman was not who he was after all. That he’d always known he was a man.”

  “He… was transitioning back?” Calvin asked, surprised.

  “Yes, he was,” Emil confirmed. “He said something didn’t feel right, and he wasn’t as happy being a woman as he thought he’d be.” He leaned forward. “It confirmed what we always thought. That this was just a phase.”

  “But he’d gone through the whole procedure,” I said.

  “Not the whole procedure,” said Emil stiffly. “He never had the surgery.”

  “Because I begged him not to have it,” said Abigail. “I always said he’d change his mind sooner or later. And I was right, wasn’t I? I was right all along.”

  “We both were, honey. Not that Mariano appreciated it. Stopped talking to us. In fact last week was the first time we heard from him in over a year, wasn’t it?”

  Abigail sniffed and took out a handkerchief to dab at her tears. “I was so happy when he finally reached out again. So happy. I thought we would finally be a family again. Now all he needed to do was get in touch with Tonja. He’d broken off contact with her, too, you know. I don’t think he ever even saw Nuncio.”

  “Who is Tonja?” I asked.

  “And Nuncio?” Calvin added.

  “Mariano’s wife and kid,” Emil said. “He filed for divorce weeks before Nuncio was born. Said he couldn’t live a lie anymore and walked out on them.”

  Now this was news. Mariana had been married? And was a father?

  “So… he left his wife before she delivered?” I asked, shocked.

  “Yes, he did,” Emil confirmed. “I always told him he’d burn in hell for that, which is when he stopped talking to me. I guess he didn’t like to be told a few harsh truths. He preferred to listen to that freak show TransCent, or whatever they call themselves.”

  “Did he say anything about connecting with his wife and son?” I asked.

  “I told him he better call Tonja and set up a meeting,” said Abigail. “That it was the right thing to do. The only way to save his soul from eternal damnation.”

  “And how did he react?”

  “He said I was right! I couldn’t believe my ears at first.”

  “You prayed long enough, didn’t you, honey,” said her husband.

  “We both did. And now, just when our prayers were answered, someone took his life.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “At least he won’t go to hell now.”

  “No, just in that last moment, he pulled himself together and did the right thing,” her husband confirmed. He squeezed his wife’s hand again. “It’s a small consolation but at least it’s something.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to cause her—him—harm?” asked Calvin
.

  Abigail directed a hesitant look at Emil. “Well… I know for a fact that Tonja told him she’d kill him if he ever came near her or Nuncio again. But I don’t think she meant it. She said that in her hour of distress. When she was facing having to give birth to that little ray of sunshine all by herself.”

  “And a few old friends of Mariano didn’t take this sudden sex change thing very well, either,” said Emil. “But I don’t think they’d kill him over it.”

  “Where were you two nights ago?” Calvin asked.

  “You don’t think we did it, do you?” asked Abigail, eyes widening.

  “It’s just a routine question, honey,” said Emil. “The police asked us the same thing, remember? That big detective was real nice about it, too.” He directed a worried look at us. “We were right here. Watching The Shack. That Sam Worthington fellow sure knows how to act. And no, there isn’t anyone that can vouch for us. We were home alone, so to speak.”

  “The detective assured us it was fine, though,” Abigail said. “He said that in his eyes we weren’t suspects. Which was real friendly of him, too.”

  “Yeah, he’s a great guy,” said Calvin sardonically.

  “Oh, yes, he is,” Abigail gushed. “If there’s anyone that’s going to catch my boy’s murderer it’s Logan. He told me he’s doing everything in his power to find out what happened, and also told me to pray for him, which I’ve been doing incessantly.”

  “You’re praying for Logan?” I asked.

  “Of course. I pray he’ll find my baby’s killer and make him burn in hell.”

  “Or the electric chair,” said her husband. “We’re not picky.”

  “There is no capital punishment in the State of New York,” I said. “They abolished it in 2007.”

  “Is that so?” asked Emil, his face hardening. “Then they should reinstate it especially for my boy’s killer.” He nodded staunchly. “I’ll add it to my prayers.”

  “Don’t bother, Emil,” said Abigail. “Something tells me the killer will suffer just as much as Mariano was made to suffer.” She gave me a keen look, her pale blue eyes boring into mine. “Don’t you agree, Miss Diffley?”

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. Luckily Calvin saved me.

  “I’m sure the killer will receive their just punishment, Mrs. Piney.”

  “Amen to that,” said the woman, leaning back contentedly.

  Chapter 20

  “How did she know?” I asked once we were back in the car. “How did she know we’re in the business of doling out punishments?” The whole thing had spooked me.

  “She didn’t,” said Calvin. “She was just asking a general question.”

  “It sounded pretty personal to me. The way she was looking at me?” I shivered. “Spooky!”

  “There’s no way she could have known we’re agents,” said Calvin. “No way.”

  “People gossip, Calvin. Diffleys have been around for a long time, so it stands to reason there would be talk about us. I’m telling you, she knew.”

  “And I’m telling you that’s impossible.”

  “You’re so stubborn!”

  “No, you’re so stubborn.”

  “No, you’re so stubborn.”

  “Hey, I can do this all day,” he said.

  “So can I, but we have a killer to catch, so I probably shouldn’t.”

  “I hate it when you act all reasonable.”

  “Someone has to be the adult around here.”

  He shoved the key into the ignition. “I’m older than you.”

  “But I’m more mature.”

  “You wish.” He put the car in gear and we were off at a healthy clip.

  “So where are we going?”

  “Tonja Summers. Who else?”

  “Do you think she killed Mariana?”

  He shrugged. “Honey, the more I know about this case the less I feel I know, if that makes sense.”

  I felt the same way. Maybe that was normal when you were conducting an investigation? Though the fact that Calvin was starting to get confused was not a good sign. He was supposed to be the more experienced one.

  Tonja Summers lived in a small apartment in South Happy Bays. It wasn’t the nicest neighborhood to live in, but not as bad as Marelda Morato’s either. There was a small park across the street from the three-story apartment building, with a playground for kids. I saw a couple of mothers watching their kids and wondered if one of them was Tonja, watching Mariana’s son Nuncio.

  “Well, what do you know?” asked Calvin softly. I followed his gaze and saw that a squad car was parked right in front of us. A nice Crown Vic. The same kind of car Logan Munroe was driving.

  “Do you think he’s here for Tonja?” I asked.

  “Let’s find out,” he said, obviously salivating at the challenge.

  “Don’t provoke him, Calvin,” I warned. “He can and will arrest you.”

  “Arrest us, you mean.”

  “He’s not going to arrest me. We’re in peaceful coexistence, remember?”

  “And I’m your brother.”

  “I don’t think the deal extended to you. At least your name wasn’t explicitly mentioned.”

  “Oh, great. So now you’re going to feed me to your cop boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend! He’s… a peaceful coexistor.” Whatever that was.

  We walked to the front door and glanced up at the breezeway that connected the apartments. Paint was peeling off, indicating the walls had once been yellow and were now a dirty sort of ochre. Loud voices carried from behind the plate glass windows, and I tried to discern if one of them was Logan’s.

  Once inside, it became obvious that was impossible, for we found ourselves face to face with the big, burly cop himself. He looked just as surprised to see us as we were to see him.

  “If it ain’t the Diffleys,” he said gruffly.

  “You make it sound like we’re some kind of sideshow,” said Calvin, plastering a blithe expression on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Well, you are,” he said. “Though not one I like to see come to town.”

  “Hey, what about peaceful coexistence?” I asked, planting my hand on my hip.

  “You’re right,” he said immediately. “My bad. Just that your brother has a way of winding me up the wrong way.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “He has the same effect on me.”

  “Hey! I’m your flesh and blood. You can’t talk smack about me.”

  “Well, you do. You’re just so annoying I can’t imagine anyone ever… buying a policy from you.” I was going to say ‘accepting any help from you’ but then I didn’t want to tip off Logan about Diffley & Co’s real core business.

  Logan glared at Calvin and Calvin returned his look in kind. It was obvious we found ourselves in some kind of standoff situation, like in those old John Wayne westerns. Any moment now, Logan would draw his six-shooter, and Calvin… his calculator.

  “Look, this is ridiculous,” I said. “Why don’t we simply join forces?”

  Logan directed his squinty-eyed look at me. “And with join forces you mean…”

  “You’re obviously here to interview Tonja Summers. Well, so are we. So why don’t we go in together, and get this over with?”

  “You mean allow two civilians to sit in on a police interview with a possible suspect in a murder investigation?” asked Logan. “Cause that’s how that sounded to me.”

  “It’s just too silly for you to interview her first—”

  “For us to interview her first,” Calvin corrected me.

  “For me to interview her, period,” Logan growled.

  “For you to interview her first and then for us to ask her the exact same questions half an hour later.”

  “I doubt whether you’ll ask her the same questions,” said Logan.

  “I doubt so, too,” said Calvin with a nasty glint in his eye.

  “Look, the poor woman already lost her husband. She doesn’t nee
d to sit through the same interview twice,” I said hurriedly, before either of the two men interrupted me again.

  “That actually sounds pretty reasonable to me,” Calvin said, to my surprise.

  Logan’s eyes narrowed some more, as if channeling Clint Eastwood’s Man with No Name. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Fine.”

  “Fine,” Calvin echoed, moving towards the row of bells.

  “I’ll ring the bell,” said Logan, pushing Calvin’s hand away.

  “No, I’ll ring the bell,” said Calvin, slapping Logan’s hand away.

  “I’ll ring the bell,” I said, moving past the two men and pressing the bell.

  “Who is it?” asked a voice coming from the speaker. I didn’t know whether the camera was working, but I leaned into it just in case.

  “Saffron Diffley, ma’am. Diffley Insurance. We’re here about the death of—”

  “Detective Logan Munroe, ma’am,” Logan interrupted me. “Happy Bays Police Department. I’m here to ask you a few questions about the death of—”

  “Calvin Diffley,” Calvin said, pushing Logan aside. “Diffley & Sons. I’m investigating an insurance claim related to the death of—”

  The buzzer went, and the door clicked open.

  Chapter 21

  The three of us were seated on the couch of Tonja Summers, while Tonja did the talking. It was an awkward scene, as both Logan and Calvin had insisted they lead the interview. Finally, Tonja had launched into a long monologue, probably hoping to get us all out of there as soon as possible.

  The living room where she was hosting us was spacious and modern, with a lot of IKEA furniture. Tonja was a school teacher by profession, and a kind-hearted and soft-spoken young woman with bright red hair and freckles who’d obviously made a mistake when marrying Mariana—or Mariano as she called him. She was dandling a lively two-your Nuncio on her knee, who seemed to find our visit the highlight of his day.

  “So I told Mariano that if he ever came near Nuncio or me again I’d file charges. But I shouldn’t have bothered. He wasn’t interested in his son or me. In fact I hadn’t heard from him since the day he announced he was going to be a woman and walked out on me. I was eight months pregnant at the time, and gave birth two weeks early out of sheer distress. The doctors said it was a miracle the baby lived, as I was completely shook up.”